The South Has Spoiled Me
by liger1983
Summary: What is it wasn't James and Victoria that hunted Bella? What if it was another vampire family? One like the Cullens? With one major difference - diet. Loosely follows the events of Twilight. OC-focused. Contains non-canon pairings. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1 - Blood in the Snow

The conifer cracked under the weight of my ascent, dropping its needles into the snow that slept so far below. Flurries blew into my face, carrying the scents of the forest. The clean, mineral smell of the rushing river, the fetor of soil, the assorted musk's of local fauna. I perched on a pine tree, letting it act as a sort of filter, dulling the other scents so that I could focus on the one that mattered most - the rich, sweet smell of blood. The banks of the river provided a fertile hunting ground. It was the kind of place where campers would gather, setting up their candy colored tents and filling canteens in the cold river. Though I imagined there wouldn't be too many this time of year. In the bitter end of a Canadian winter.

A league away, two black tents rose from the white of the forest, and two figures, dwarfed by the forced perspective and bundled against the chill, were hunched over a few dying embers. Still far from the range of their eyes, I leapt lightly to the forest floor. My landing was a soft crunch in the ice.

Noiselessly, I slipped off my shoes and let my bare feet sink into the snow, soaking the bottom cuffs of my jeans. I quickly braided my long, blond hair into pigtails, and let the snow saturate them as well, painting a picture of fragility and innocence, the perfect lure for my prey. My light complexion gave me the look of a cherry blossom, my body small enough that, from a distance, I could look as though I was just blooming into adolescence. These two humans would let me close.

I forced my feet to move with a heavy shuffle, and squinted my eyes. It was partially against the cold, and partly to hide their unnatural color. Because I was famished, the red was so dark it could almost pass as brown. As I drew closer, the two figures became men, one was thickly bearded and had russet colored skin, the other pale, thin, and green-eyed. The green eyed man wore a wedding ring, and I decided the other would be my victim. I would not be responsible for the grief of a widow.

The bearded man glanced around for the source of the noise, and his eyes went wide when he saw me shivering. In a hesitant, jerky motion, he elbowed his companion.

"H-help me," I moaned weakly. They rushed at me, speaking all at once and on top of the other.

"Are you okay?"

"What are you doing out here?"

"Are you hurt? . . . Cold?"

"You must be freezing!"

The bearded man had a bear-like stature. He slipped off his thick, brown jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. It fit like a dress and the fur lining tickled the back of my neck. These men were kind.

I tried to push that thought from my mind, choosing to picture them as faceless, feelingless bags of blood.

I caught the man's hand and held it earnestly, looking deep into his dark eyes. My own eyes lost focus as I pictured the firework display of neurons alighting in his brain, and the way his pain receptors would alarm as I sank my teeth into him. I pictured quieting the storm, extinguishing each lightning bolt before it could smite. The large man went limp, and I caught him easily. His friend was frozen in shock, eyes blown wide open. I barely gave him a second thought as my teeth slipped easily into the man's skin, the only resistance being broken by a soft pop. Blood filled my mouth, hot and rich and delicious. I let a soft moan escape my throat, and my eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

His pulse began to pick back up, heart racing in fear. He twisted and flopped in my arms, his arms twitching and his muscles contracting as they tried to escape the fiery burn of the venom. I increased the dosage of my psychic sedative, letting the calming energy flow through his veins. As his heartbeat slowed, so did the flow into my mouth, until, finally, they both stopped. I let the man's limp body crash to the snow and wiped the last, beautiful drops from the corner of my mouth with a snowy finger and dipped it back between my lips, savoring the last, fleeting taste.

My senses, which a fled from me in the rapture of my monstrous act, suddenly returned. I could see the tiny drops of blood in the snow at my feet, and the ashen tone of the dead man's skin. And I could smell the scent of blood, heavy in the air. Not just the life-giving fluid of the man at my feet, but an other's as well. The green-eyed man.

Suddenly, my sixth sense attacked me, and I could feel a searing pain in my throat, and fire flowing through my long-dry veins. Then I felt brutal snaps in my chest and limbs.

I spun on my heel and saw the green-eyed man dangling from the hard, white arms of my brother. The human's mouth was open in a scream, but the pain was so intense that no sound passed his lips. His bones were being broken, deliberately crushed under the force of the vampire.

"Lawrence," I scolded under my breath, "don't be savage."

My brother didn't even glance at me, his response was another vicious assault on the poor human. Law's jaw snapped fully closed inside the man's neck and ripped, tearing out a large, jagged piece of flesh and spitting it out, before they clamped down again.

I took the green-eyed man's hand in mine. His wedding ring was prominent against my fingers. How his widow will grieve.

The man went limp under my influence, his pain draining from my body as it relinquished him. His eyes closed in peace, and then, finally, in death. Lawrence tossed the corpse across the forest, and it smacked against a rock with a heavy thud. There was a gaping, blood drenched hole where his throat used to be, and the jagged edges of his torn larynx stuck stiffly out from the pool of red.

"Sarah." My brother addressed me with a hard voice, edging towards a growl. His crimson eyes flashed. "Don't be meddlesome."

I ignored his angry comment.

"What should we do with the bodies?" I asked solemnly, glancing over the corpse at my feet. He wore only a white, long sleeve Henley, the collar wet with a light splatter of crimson. His jacket was still slung across my shoulders. I quickly wrapped it back around him, taking note of the already chilled temperature of his skin.

"Bear attack?" Lawrence suggested, "Mine is already halfway there."

He cast a disapproving glance at my victim, the only mark was two neat crescents of puncture wounds along the jugular. Too pristine for my brother's taste. His long, dark hair swayed as he shook his head.

"We'll have to throw them into the river as well," I said, gliding across the snow to retrieve my boots, "it will explain the blood loss . . . if anyone ever finds them."

It was unlikely that anyone would ever find the bodies. They would be carried down the rushing river, and would end up irrevocably tangled in branches, or petrified in ice as the river froze through that night. Their bodies would bloat and swell, then waste away. Their families would always wonder.

As I pondered the fate of our victims earthly vessel, Lawrence made quick work of the tents, ripping them to ribbons with his fingernails until the torn polyester flapped freely in the breeze. He walked to the broken corpse of the green-eyed man and scooped a handful of blood from the gaping wound in his throat. With a casual flick of his wrist, he splattered the blood against the broken flaps of the tents and over the green and red flannel sleeping bags. Then, with all the drama of a horror movie, he ran his blood-covered palm down the checkered fabric, creating a long, dragging handprint. We each scooped up a body. Him one handed, holding the cold flesh far away from his body like he was taking out trash. I held the body of the bearded man a little more gingerly.

Lawrence dropped the corpse into the river without ceremony. It smashed through the sheet of ice and was taken away with the flow of water. As it rushed under the sheet of solid ice, the image of the body distorted, looking frosted over and snowy white. I let the bearded man drop in behind him, disappearing down into the abyss.

"Saints of God, come to their aid, come to meet them, Angels of the Lord," I breathed, closing my eyes in a brief moment of prayer. With no priest to give Viaticum, and no family to gather around their deathbed, this short prayer by a thief would have to serve as their last rites. I had great faith in life, but, in my peaceless death, I was no longer sure.

Lawrence snorted with laughter, a harsh cruel sound.

"You're too moral," he sneered.

"No," I said, "It's purely selfish. I don't wish to feel their pain."

"Whatever," he said, "let's go find the others."

He sprinted towards the dawning sun with less than a glance in my direction.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Starving Sister

We ran through the forest in silence, the snow and trees and rocky hills blurring into a grey mass as we headed towards a pre-arranged meeting place: a clearing just north of the US border, filled with rocky formations and a partially-frozen pond. The sun shone through the canopy of trees, casting dancing green lights on to the snow. It was beautiful, and would be even more beautiful when the last of the winter weather melted and flowers sprung from the soil. As the clearing came into view, I could see two white-tailed deer bent over the pond, lapping from its waters as a light snowfall settled on their antlers and fur.

Two more of my sibling sat there as well, as still as though they were carved from marble. If the deer had been weary of them, it had long since passed. Heather sat with the curtain of her tightly curled, almost-white hair towards me, and she was perched in her mate's lap. Her gaze was cast wistfully towards the deer and she hummed to herself. The melody was soft as it floated in the breeze. Where she was still in placidity, he was tensed. Though his large arms were wrapped loosely around her, his sharp jaw was rock hard. His eyes were burning matte black like smoldering coal.

"Matt, you didn't hunt." I rested my hand on his shoulder, allowing the feeling of his thirst to flow into me and singe my own throat. I closed my eyes and drew the pain from his body. This burden, like so many others, we could share. He turned to look at me, his posture relaxing slightly.

"Thank you, Morphine" he said, using my nickname. His face brightened. His eyes had always looked kind despite their crimson tint, and they crinkled at the corners. I grinned back at him. I've always been close to my eldest brother, even closer in recent months. We had spent the many years before he found Heather as the only two unmated vampires in our coven, two odd men out forced together by circumstance. We had spent over a century laughing at the way our siblings went crazy for each other, and the way that our father had spoken so gently when discussing our mother. When he had found Jess last year, I was happy for him.

I ran my hand through his short, brown hair, twigs and leaves coming out with my fingers. There were smears of muddy slush across his arm, and another down the side of his jeans.

"Or did you hunt?" I asked, tilting my head to the side.

He nodded. "I chased down a ranger in a truck. He was the only person we had come across all night, though. I let Heather have him. She needs blood more than I do."

Heather turned her head slightly and kissed his cheek in wordless thanks.

I nodded measuredly and raised an eyebrow, looking for reassurance that we wouldn't have the Royal Canadian Mounted Police looking for us.

He smirked, and took on a mock skeptical voice, imitating any detective that might stumble across our crime, "It looks a hell of a lot like a car accident. Weird though. It went right into the river."

I could picture what he would have done, as I had seen him do it so many times. He would find a dark, curvy road, one that ran its course along a river. He would shove a tree into the pavement, something so large a truck's wheels could not bounce over it. Then the real fun would begin. Matt would climb behind the driver's seat of the truck, the corpse of the ranger tucked safely next to him, for easy access. He would swing the truck wildly around the icy curves, tires spinning and sliding and squealing and marking the pavement until it finally met the fallen tree. Then, he would throw the wheel to the side, sending the truck into a series of donuts, each drawing the truck closer to the precarious edge. Finally, it would culminate in the grand finale: the truck careening over the edge of the cliff, crashing into the river below. Matt would switch the corpse into the driver's seat just before they went over the edge, and skillfully jump out before the metal ever touched the water.

"Joanna's coming!" Heather said suddenly, her eyes far off and glazed over. I cast a look in her direction, and saw that she had extended a hand towards the large lake. My gaze followed the line of her arm, and all I saw was empty forest and glassy water for miles.

Lawrence glanced towards Heather with an eyebrow raised. "Mind sharing with the class?"

"She can see the other side of the lake," Heather explained. She looked back into the distance, as she was once again borrowing Joanna's eyes. "She'll be here soon."

Joanna came into view, her fawn brown hair bouncing around her shoulders as she ran. Her face had kept a slight roundness, even as she aged and even when she was turned. She looked innocent, except her eyes. They were an angry, deep wine color. Almost black. JoJo, my little sister, the only one of my siblings with whom I could claim a genetic link, was starving. And so was Matthew. An iron fist gripped my heart. It was my decision that had put us here, starving, deep in the woods of Canada.

In a move lacking all grace, my younger sister dropped onto the rocks next to Matt and Heather. The hunger was driving her to exhaustion.

"I miss The South," she groaned. "The hunting was so easy!"

Matthew grunted in ascent. The burning in his throat was starting to creep back, as the effects of my gift were wearing off. I rested my left palm on his shoulder again, and took my little sister's hand in my right. The burn of their throats filled mine, the combined force of it was so intense. I was in an agony of my own doing. And so were they. The least I could do was take it away. I closed my eyes, pictured closing the synapses, and the pain melted away.

I could hear their relieved sighs, but I had a feeling her comment was more than just a hunger pain. The South had been our home for as long as any of us had been alive, we had lived and loved and lost so much there. Joanna, maybe, more than any of us.

I said, "we can't go home. There's nothing there for us anymore."

"We have to do something," Matt said. He wrapped his arms tighter around Heather and kissed her forehead. I knew he was thinking only of her.

"I know," I replied. I looked down at my twisting hands. "We'll head south. Into Portland, perhaps. There is so little claimed territory this far north."

"Why don't we just take back what is ours?" Lawrence's deep voice barked from behind us, "We could raise our own army!"

He had jumped up from his place on the ground and was stalking towards the rest of us, arms outstretched in sudden, incredulous fury. His eyes flashed, dancing like a live fire. I knew the ghost of war was swimming behind his eyes. It did for all of us, but he was the only one who relished it.

"Law," Heather breathed, shaking her head. The others stared at him in weary silence.

I gritted my teeth.

"Augustine rescued you from that," I hissed, "rescued all of us from it. We will not disrespect his memory by running back into violence."

I didn't have to close my eyes, or even try to see the images. They just appeared.

 _I stood underneath the waxy canopy of a magnolia tree, my gaze dancing around the shadowed cemetery, searching for the flash of brown of my little sister's hair. I breathed in the sweet fragrance of the flowers, waiting for the musky cologne of my brother, Daniel, to float across the air. I felt the light breeze of early spring chill my shoulders, and ached for the warm weight of my father's hand to replace it._

 _I had heard the call of retreat from him only moments ago. His voice was always calm and sturdy, every word a command. I knew my siblings would, as I had, obey._

 _Lawrence and Heather appeared on my left, and I acknowledged them with a slight nod, my eyes still preoccupied with searching the night. Heather's pretty sun dress had torn in the fight, and Lawrence's shirt had been ripped clean off his body, revealing the wounds that marred his otherwise perfect skin. Wounds both fresh, still oozing with venom, and long-since scarred over. My skin, just as thoroughly marked, burned with my own fresh wounds and tingled with the ghost of Lawrence and Heather's._

 _I checked my bearings. Two siblings behind me, darkness before me, the night above me, and graves below me._

" _Maybe they aren't coming?" Lawrence said, "did you see any of them make it out?"_

 _I wanted to lash out at him, striking him across the face for even suggesting that or family would not come out whole. That Augustine, my steady, unshakable father, could be taken down. That Joanna, my lovely little sister's, head was no longer attached to her body. Or that anyone could be stronger than Daniel._

The memory would always be lurking somewhere just behind my eyes.

"Okay!" Matthew called, a grin on his face. He could always be counted on to ease the tension. "Let's play Manhunt!"

"I wanna be a tracker!" Heather called, hopping off her mate's lap.

"Heather can't be a tracker," Joanna complained, "She can literally see where we're hiding. It's cheating."

"I never get to track," Heather said, exaggerating the roll of her eyes and the annoyed huff. Lawrence gave her a playful shove, joking, "Gift or no gift, you'd suck at it anyways."

They both chuckled, and, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she shoved him back. Hard. As he tumbled to the ground, I witnessed the most comical image of my existence: Lawrence's thin, heavily scarred body sprawled across the ground, his long hair tossed across his face, almost completely obscuring his sharp, elfin features, put there by Heather who, for all the world, looked like a petite little ballerina. My body shook with Law was laughing as he picked himself, and his dignity, up off the ground. His harsh body language had faded to a relaxed stance, and he had even shot me a grin. We fell into routine, as this debate was an old one: which of us were better trackers, the impact on integrity that our various powers would have, if the use of said powers was even relevant at all. It went the usual way, with Heather 's attempts being shot down in favor if two trackers with less conspicuous gifts. Usually it was Matthew and Joanna, with very little variation, however, that day, we had elected both Lawrence and I to do the tracking. The other three would hide.

"All of Vancouver Island?" Matt suggested, glancing around as if he could assess beyond the boundary of our clearing. "Or should we go further south?"

"South," I said, "We're almost to Seattle. How about . . . the Olympic Peninsula?"

We all finally agreed on the rules of this iteration of our game, and all ran at full speed towards the Strait of Juan de Fuca - in the middle of which was the border between Canada and Washington State. We leapt and bounded and swung from trees as we ran, exhilarated by the promise of light-hearted fun. Heather and Matt seemed to dance around each other as they ran, their movements a waltz, eyes always trained on the other. Law tested his strength as he sprinted, propelling himself as far into the air as he could before latching onto the top of a tall tree and riding it down, screaming jovially like it was a roller-coaster. I let my head fall back in laughter, and rocketed myself into the air after him, challenging him to see which of us could leap higher. Joanna, though she giggled at our antics, looked, as always, a little far away. She ran in a straight line, alone.

A rocky, steep cliff came into view, one the tipped over to reveal a turbulent green sea. We ground to a halt as we examined what lay on the other side: A panel of trees so solid it looked almost like a wall had been painted to look like a forest. Washington. From such a high vantage point, we could see the angry, gray clouds that gathered above the woods, and the small flashes of light the emanated from them.

"Wait till we get to the other side," Matt said, winking, before disappearing over the edge. I heard the light splash as he landed in the water. With the grace of Olympic high divers and the light-hearted humor of school-children, Heather and Joanna followed him. I watched the three shadows as they cut through the water, always under the surface.

Lawrence was headfirst into the water as soon as the blonde halo of Heather's hair crested the surface, barely distinguishable from the waves. I took a fraction of a second to relish the loud whoop of my youngest brother. As fun as it was, we hadn't had much of a cause to swim in our former home.

I dove into the water in a perfect, practiced pike. As the water slid around me, I let myself glide. I could see the bottoms of Lawrence's feet, only a few meters ahead of me. I began to kick hard, pushing myself forward in an attempt to overtake him. I would need whatever head start I could give myself. Law, despite his extreme youth, was the best tracker that we had. A genius and an outdoorsman in his human life, the skills and intellect had carried over beautifully. But he also had his cockiness, and that was my biggest advantage. I knew he would go for Heather first, to get the toughest foe out of the way because he thought he could easily nab another before I could even find one. That was the object of the game: for one tracker to find more "prey" than the other.

I knew that, in a direct competition for one person, particularly Heather, my tracking skills were no match for my brother. I would go for the easier prey - JoJo - and try to capture Matt as well before Lawrence could find Heather. Though that wasn't to diminish Joanna's abilities, or Matt's. They only came up short in our company; excellent among the average but average among the excellent.

I surfaced first, catching the scent of my sister immediately. It was the most familiar to me, as it was so close to my own. We both smelled like magnolia and lemonade, only her scent was slightly sweeter. I took off after it, following the trail southeast, towards the Pacific coast. I was vaguely aware the Law had taken a similar path.

Joanna's scent twisted and turned through the trees, but always headed in the same general direction. There were times when her scent was almost completely obscured by the strong, sharp pine, and there was one point where it took such a sharp turn that I thought she had truly changed course, but the path held steady.

 _Crack!_

I spun towards the noise. It might have been thunder, except it sounded entirely too much like a canon. The loud noise had triggered an immediate flashback to my youth. But that was ridiculous. Wars were fought with propaganda and automatic weapons now. The tools of war I had grown up with were obsolete. I looked around the monotonous forest, trying to find a break in the pattern. There were trunks before me, trunks behind me, canopies above me, and roots below me. But, even through the stillness, something was a threat. I abandoned the game, diverting from my sister's trail and sprinting towards the sound of the noise, just in time for another one to come.

 _Crack!_

A myriad of sweet scents suddenly perfumed the air, their combined strength noxious. There were many vampires here, and each had their own smell. I could pick out a few individual fragrances, from whichever individuals were standing closest to me at the moment. A rich-smelling, oaky male, and another that smelled light and fresh, like sandalwood. And feminine floral scent.

"Out!" a gentle voice called.

The sudden barrage of sensory input felt like an attack. If I had a beating heart, it would be racing. I leapt up into a tree, hanging from the highest, most delicate of branches. Through narrowed eyes, I examined a clearing in the distance. I could just barely make out a group of vampires that gathered in the open space. There were bats strewn about, and the group was shrouded in the pale blue and white of what seemed to be baseball uniforms. That would explain the noises. I glided across the branches to another tree, a balsam fir, grateful for the improved view, and for the way the fragrant Christmas tree would mask my scent. I could see the defensive posture they were taking, all faced towards me, though their gazes were too low, focused on the base of the trees.

I sent a silent, but fervent prayer above that this would not come to blows, but my battle-trained mind was already analyzing the potential fight.

My siblings would be on their way. Heather could see through the bounds of time and space and bodily autonomy, and she would be looking through my eyes. I didn't doubt that Lawrence had already found her, or that Matthew had never strayed far from her side. They would be rushing here, and were probably only minutes away. I knew Joanna was close as well, as I could still catch whiffs of her scent.

I matched my family up to the coven I saw before me. Three of the four men made up the front line. The man at the point had styled blonde hair, a straight posture and a calm face. He must be the leader. We would take him out first. Cut off the head and the body will flounder. Flanking the leader were two larger men. One, the biggest of the bunch, had dark hair, and a defensive crouch. It would work, but looked unpracticed. He wasn't an experienced fighter. I mentally discounted him. We had bulk on our side as well, I reminded myself, as Matthew's hulking figure crossing my mind. The other stood with his feet shoulder width apart. Though he was steady, arms at his side, the majority of his weight was on his back foot, ready to pivot directly into a swing. Heavy handed scars crisscrossed all of his visible flesh, over his forearms and up his neck. The pattern lightened as it drew closer to his handsome face. He was the real danger. I wasn't cocky enough to assume I could take him on my own, but the combined force of Lawrence and I tipped the scales in our favor. The other four strangers would be nothing in a fight. I would leave them to Joanna and Heather.

Losing the fight never crossed my mind, but we might lose soldiers. Family members. And we had lost so much already.

"Dear God," I breathed, "let them be amicable."


	3. Chapter 3 - Scarred Hands Surrendering

I adjusted my grip on the branches, ready to drop into the clearing. Then, a light breeze floated to me, ruffling my hair. It carried a sensation that changed everything.

The wind carried both the ambrosial scent of human blood to my nostrils, and a dull hint of pain to the back of my head. The blood might be dismissed as the remnants of a messy recent kill, but the ache at the base of my skull raised questions. Vampires do not get headaches. And the scent was so strong, so beautifully floral. I was struggling to keep myself in check as it was, and this feat would have been approaching impossibility if I had not just fed.

All of the Vampire's throats were burning, and it amplified my own desire by a million. Though their discomfort was subtle and they were recently sated, a hint of dissatisfaction lingered. My mind reeled. How could they stay so close to something so delectable?

My gaze found the small, cowering brunette. She was pulling her hair down from a ponytail, no doubt a futile attempt to mask her scent. I bit back a laugh. They would do better to give her one of their jackets. Even then, the perfume of her blood was so strong and so sweet. The way that they arched around her was protective, more than what was reasonable if she were only a snack. The bronze haired, slender male and the petite woman orbited her, whispering inaudible things in her ear. The way regarded her was almost like she was a member of their family. This filled me with wonder.

Then fear wrapped it's cold, iron fist around my stomach. If I struggled with the scent of the brunette's blood, it would be inconceivable for my newborn siblings to resist. I couldn't risk that, not with all the consequences a fight could bring. I could not allow my siblings to walk in blind, so I would have to intercept.

The branches slipped through my fingers as I let myself fall towards the forest floor. My feet met the ground silently at the edge of the clearing, directly in the line of sight of the strange coven. They all stiffened and slipped lower into their defensive stances. I walked forward slowly, hands up with my palms facing them as I tried to project an air of calm and let a smile settle on my face. The leader was wearing a smile, but the rest of them had looks ranging from menace - the bronze haired man - to a charming smile on the face of the dangerous blond. Instinct told me he was the one I needed to set at ease, so I flashed him my most lovely grin. The corner of his lip twitched into a smirk.

"I'm Sarah," I greeted warmly, "My family and I were just passing through and I heard your game."

My accent was not missed. They exchanged questioning looks between themselves, and I could almost feel them appraising my scarred arms. As their eyes darted between their fighter's ravaged flesh and my own, I knew that they could guess at my upbringing. Fear started to creep into the expressions of the women in the back, and even the huge, dark haired man's bravado faltered for a moment. But the masks were back in place quickly enough. And I kept a smile on my face the whole time.

"I'm Carlisle," the leader greeted, he didn't let any doubt erode his voice, "This is my wife Esme -"

He gestured to a kind-looking brunette, and she offered me a wordless smile. It reached the golden depths of her eyes.

I paused. Though I had noticed the odd color before, I had dismissed it as a trick of the light. Putting those thoughts aside, I amicably tipped my head towards her.

"And my children . . . Jasper and Emmett," Carlisle waved his hand over the two larger males. The dark-haired one, Emmett, flashed a toothy grin and straightened, swinging the baseball bat casually over his shoulders.

The blond gave me a cordial nod a charming, "Pleased to meet you, Ma'am."

A fellow southerner, I could hear it in his accent. This both thrilled and frightened me. The scars in his arms seemed so much more prominent.

Waves of calm started to inebriate me, washing over me like the waves of the ocean gently lapping at the shore. In spite of my will, my shoulders relaxed completely and my heart seemed to have grown wings, as it was light and buoyant in my chest. The feeling was foreign, but not entirely unwelcome, as it had been so long since I had felt so physically relaxed. This had to be Jasper's doing, I could see it in the way his topaz eyes danced. Gratitude passed through me, and the southerner raised an eyebrow in question, like he could feel my emotion, and like this was a reaction he had never experienced before.

"Edward and Bella, Rosalie and Alice," Carlisle finished, gesturing to each of his family members as he said their name. He hadn't singled anyone out in introduction, hoping that they would not end up singled out in my mind, and he had deliberately placed the human's name in the middle of his introduction, like he was trying to hide her. But she didn't escape my notice, and I was feeling very intrigued by this particular human.

"Nice to meet you all." I said in a voice so polite and demure that I knew my human mother would be pleased.

"You said that you heard us playing," Carlisle asked, "would you like to join? Your family is welcome too, of course."

"No thank you," I replied graciously, masking the twinge of fear I felt at the suggestion. It was too easy to envision the scene if Lawrence or Heather got too close to the human: their flaming red eyes, teeth pulled back into a snarl and gleaming with the dripping poison. I cringed.

Edwards head whipped around to face me, his own teeth bared, so similar to the image on my mind. His family tensed again in response to him, feeding off his energy. Through his gritted teeth, he accused, "You have newborns with you."

Hisses and growls emanated from the coven, all friendliness, or pretense of friendliness, gone. Though Jasper narrowed his eyes, his outward appearance was calm in comparison to his family. While they had sank back into defensive stances, he had remained upright. His eyes, however, betrayed a turbulence and fear that suggested a deeper understanding of the volatile nature of newborns. I could have guessed as much both through his accent, so prominent against the northern tones of his family's voices, or maybe from the sharp contrast of his ravaged skin against the smooth, unmarked flesh of his family. He was southern, not just in name or location, but in spirit. He had come into a world, much like my siblings and I, of violence and war. Of fear and of hate. By all accounts, he belonged more with us than he did with the Cullens.

"I should gather my family," I replied steadily, "We will leave."

Though I turned on my heel to leave, I was stopped by a tiny, frightened voice. "Too late."

It had come from the tiny pixie of a vampire, the one who had alerted them to my presence to begin with.

I spun back around to face the Cullen Coven, my eyebrows raised. "Too late?"

The pixie didn't get the chance to respond before I could sense the approach of my siblings. Lawrence and Heather . I took a deep breath. Newborns behind me, a human before me, heaven above me, and hell below me. I turned, facing the same area that Alice was, trusting in her second sight. The pair appeared, moving at a glide. Their crimson eyes sparkled dangerously into the sun, their skin glinting like diamonds. The Cullens gathered into the same defensive formation they had taken when I had first appeared. Carlisle at the spearhead, flanked by their two best fighters. All protecting the human. I stood in the crossfire.

Lawrence looked measured and controlled, his body relaxed, while Heather looked stunned. Her eyes were blown wide and focused only on Bella. Her throat burned like fire.

"Heather," I spoke to her like she was a wild animal, a juxtaposition of calming and stern. "We are leaving."

She didn't hear me. She was caught up in the hunt, her eyes darting around each of the Cullens, appraising them, as I had.

"Heather . . ." I warned.

My only hint was the slight clench of her muscles as they gathered for the spring. I stepped into her path, throwing my hands between us. With a loud crash, like thunder, her body flew back across the field. It hurt me as much as it hurt her, not only by the physical transmission of my gift, but through a pang of guilt that resonated through me. I questioned my actions, even as I performed them. For what was I fighting my family? Because instinct had told me to? For the sake of this human?

My gaze darted to Lawrence. He was calm, arms folded and gaze steady. Not a threat. Not at the moment.

Heather was charging again, her blonde hair flying wildly. Her hand was cocked back in a claw, ready to take my head off. In that moment, I was not her sister, merely an obstacle in the hunt.

I side stepped her charge, ducking neatly under her outstretched arm. She roared in frustration. My boot swung out to catch her feet, sending her tumbling. I was on her before she realized what had happened, one hand restraining her wrists. The other wound through her long, tangled hair. My teeth were an inch from her neck.

"Enough," I hissed. I gave her hair a sharp tug, a reminder that, If I wanted, I could take her head off. I would never, not for a human, maybe not even for myself. But I was painfully aware of the group of vampires behind me. They would not have the same reservations.

There it was. I had finally stumbled onto a reasoning that settled my stomach. I was fighting Heather to protect her, not to protect the silly, worthless human.

We looked at each other for a long time. My eyes hard and set, regarding her the way that I imagined a general would regard a disobedient soldier. She was panting, her eyes still wild. My words were nothing to this animal. Her head started to tilt, bared teeth nearing dangerously close to my exposed flesh. I tried to shove her away from my skin, but her newborn strength, though waning at the year mark, was still overcoming my own. The razors scraped my skin and I had to bite my lip to stop the scream. Burning pain radiated from the area. I barely gathered the power to force her jaw away from me. My muscles strained to keep the distance.

I sensed movement on my left. Lawrence, moving at a blur, was taking advantage of the distraction. I couldn't let go of Heather, and I couldn't let him reach his target. Nearly paralyzed by the indecision, time seemed to slow. Moving on impulse, I launched Heather across the field, trying to put her as far away from both me and Bella as possible.

Lawrence was ready for me. He ducked my attack, barely breaking stride. I launched myself at him again, this time connecting. We tumbled together. My gift told me the kick had sent a spider web of cracks through his back. I shook my head against the guilt. He would heal.

Heather jumped to her feet, finally recovered from the scrimmage. She was charging. Lawrence stood as well, bent at an awkward angle as if his back couldn't quite straighten. But his feet were set to attack.

My mind whirled. They were both running towards a wall of enemies. Who do I save?

I wrapped my arms around Heather. She strained against me, but couldn't break the iron of hy hold. The two of us watched, me wearily, her with jealousy, as Lawrence hurtled towards the Cullens. They were all braced for the attack. Their fists were clenched, postures defensive.

Emmett reacted first, his huge fist landing a punch that sent my brother's across the clearing. I was relieved to see that his head tumbled along with it, still attached. Lawrence smacked into a large conifer. The tree cracked at the impact. He rolled off of it and back to his feet in one fluid movement, like the punch had no affect on him. He was charging again.

My thoughts begged him to stop.

The Cullens had shifted position. Jasper had taken over as the spearhead. I could tell from his posture that he was poised to kill. The others had formed a tight circle around the human, guarding her at all sides.

Joanna and Matthew appeared out of nowhere, each grabbing one of Lawrence's arms. They had caught him just in time. His glistening teeth were an inch away from Jasper's face. He trashed against them wildly, but they overcame him, dragging him back toward the edge of the clearing. As they hauled him past me, I cast a long, sad look at the Cullens. My charge was still thrashing in my arms.

"I'm so sorry."

Though I only breathed it, I knew they could hear me. And I meant every word.

* * *

 **A/N: Sooo . . . it's not exactly like Twilight. Oops. Anyways, as much as I love this story, it's main purpose is an exercise to improve my writing skills for some original fiction I plan on writing later. I'm gonna be asking some questions at the end of future chapters about specific things I'm trying to work on, but, for now, do you like it as much as I do? I really hope so. Thanks for reading! - Elizabeth**


	4. Chapter 4 - Two Roads Diverged

My mature siblings had I hauled the two newborns for almost a mile, testing the air as we went, waiting for the breeze to flow clean with the scent of pine and rain, washing away the perfume of Bella's blood. Lawrence had recovered from his bloodlust quickly, and was striding next to us. He was on the balls of his feet, too careful to be casual, gliding along as though he was trying not to startle an invisible prey. I had offered him my hand, holding in it my gift, but he had tossed it away. He stared straight ahead, his gaze not sparing even a casual glance to the rest of us. Heather, however, had eagerly accepted my offer of help, grateful to relinquish the burn. As we had ran through the woods, Heather had forsaken my tight grasp and had been lifted into the protective circle of her mate's arms.

As the decadent scent disappeared, we slowed to a stop. The fresh, woodsy breeze could almost wash my sinuses clean, but the memory still lingered. The human - Bella's - scent was nothing like I had ever smelled before, and part of me wrestled with the knowledge that I may carry it forever, always lingering in the background of my olfactory nerves.

Matt was gazing lovingly down at Heather, a gentle smile on his face.

"She should hunt," he told me, his eyes never leaving hers. A smile crossed my face, my heart feeling soft. Their love was contagious.

"Yes," I agreed, "It will help."

I spared a glance at the brash coal of his eyes, driven even darker by his encounter with the - with Bella. I said, "You need to as well."

"I'll take her to Port Angeles," he said. His voice was almost a coo as he spoke, like he was speaking to his wife, instead of just about her. And the phrasing - 'I'll take her' instead of we'll go - his world was consumed by Heather.

"I'll go too," Lawrence barked.

"Okay," Heather said, her voice high and soft, like the melody of a love song, or a lullaby. Her gaze remained locked on Matt, just as devoted.

The three of them disappeared in a flash, leaving only the rustling of leaves and light impressions of their shoes in the damp ground. The thick wall of trees closed behind them like a curtain. I watched the area they had left behind for a long time, but I didn't see the empty forest. My mind was turning, over and over again, the events of this afternoon - reexamining the bright, glinting rubies of Heather 's eyes; the sickening crack as my foot had made contact with my brother's back, shattering it as if he were a porcelain doll; the dangerous flex of the blond vampire - Jasper's - muscles as they slid under his ravaged skin, tensing as he prepared to fight.

"What the hell happened back there, Morphine?" Joanna said, interrupting my day dream. She was looking aghast at me, like I had just sprouted a second head, but there was no anger in her ruby eyes, only shock and concern. I could have sworn a chill ran through my hard, undead flesh.

She frowned at me. "We heard some weird noises, and then Lawrence and Heather were running."

Law and Heather would have sprinted, pulled by the force of Heather 's second sight, to the clearing where I encountered the Cullens, scaring the forest animals and sending them scurrying for cover. My other siblings - Matt and Joanna - would have scurried too, motivated by an instinct to protect our family.

"You were fighting our sister . . . who were those others?" Joanna pressed. She grabbed my hand in hers, and I startled at the touch, turning to look at her. Her angelic face was full of concern.

"They called themselves the Cullens," I explained, though I knew my answer provided no information. Their family name had not carried a reputation, not to me. In The South, a family's name carried the world on its shoulders. The wars were a culture still wrapped in the trappings of its inception. The leaders - most of the leaders - had been born into a time of rigid politeness and social nobility, and their creations carried the spectre of it. Name was everything.

"Okay? I've never heard of them," Joanna said, "was that a human with them. Was the fight over the human? All that over a snack?"

Her voice took on the high whine of distress at the end, and it brought the image of Bella to me again, and the fear that petrified her; the chewing of her lip, her teeth so savage against the delicate flesh that I thought it would tear, spilling her blood. I could imagine anyone controlling themselves then. Her chestnut brown hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, around her neck. The most easily accessible vein, but no one took advantage of it.

My eyes blew wide and I looked "That's the thing Joanna. The human was not - Bella was not a snack. She was part of their family."

"She . . . ?" Her mind whirled around, almost visibly, trying to process the deluge of information. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," I mused. "The way that they hovered around her, like they were protecting her."

"Maybe they're just territorial? " Joanna insisted. Our background did not allow the possibility of true relationships with humans. Again, I could see their spearhead in my mind, the unscarred flesh of their leader and the way he had held his hands out to me in a steadying manner. The kind look in his eyes. He wasn't a fighter, but he would have broken his pacifist convictions for this meek human adolescent. The bronze haired man - Edward - had hovered around her, guarding her from a proximity our kind only managed with humans when we were hunting, lulling our prey into a false sense of security, or when we tried to arouse them to the point of submission. But his eyes, when they were not frozen over in anger at me, regarded Bella the way that my brother regarded his mate.

Their eyes, the light and dark swirl of honey and warm chocolate. So beautiful, almost human.

"Their eyes, JoJo!" I was sure I looked amazed, "Their eyes were like gold."

"Were they vampires?" She shook her head and pursed her lips. It was all too much. "Or something else?"

"Their skin was hard, no warmth came from them. No blood or circulatory system."

Edward's righteous anger had burned cold, I could almost feel the frigid expression. When I inhaled the crisp piney air of Washington, I was filled with the aroma of cedar and spice, something native to the south, the scent of the blond male, the fighter. Jasper.

"They smelled like vampires," I said.

"Okay," she relented, "so they were like us . . . in species, at least. Why were you fighting Heather ? What happened?"

We parsed the afternoon's events together, me detailing every twitch of muscle, every flash of motivation and scream of confusion. We analyzed the moment that I leapt for Heather , and the confusion that I had felt, and then how I had rationalized my actions, determining that they had, in fact, melded in line with my core values. Protect my family. Preserve the Augustine line. Heather surely would have been destroyed by the dozen waiting claws of the Cullen family. As we talked, my sister helped ease me.

An hour had passed . . . then two . . . three.

Port Angeles was only a half hour away.

"Shouldn't they be back by now?" I asked, squinting through the grey and green of the trees. The forest was still and rock I rested on was slick with the rain. Though the clouds above were dark, heavy with rain, blocking out the sun in its entirety, but the precipitation didn't come. The droplets of water seemed to hang still in the air, stinging my skin in pinpricks as I sat. The world was frozen in time, holding its breath with me.

Joanna traced her fingers over the moss that settled on the rocks. Her eyebrows had creased, and her full lips were pressed to the point of invisibility. "Yes. They should have been back a while ago."

I slipped off of the rock and to my feet, hearing the soft part on the ground Joanna did the same.

The afternoon light was fading as we tracked their scent, it ran away from the sun, and we followed. Three distinct scents headed east, towards Port Angeles, for a mile before the trails grew strong. Their scent, instead of being a light trail through the misty air, was saturating the atmosphere. It clung on rocks, and smothered the scent of the trees.

"They must have stopped her for a while . . ." I muttered, my fingers trailed the rough bark of an evergreen. One scent was strongest here, like orange blossoms. Heather must have leaned against this tree.

From there, two of the trails took a sharp turn to the south. The other doubled back on itself, doubling back on itself a mile below where it began. Back toward the clearing where we had met the Cullens. My breath caught in my throat. I pushed my feet to move faster, until they were a blur even in my advanced sight. Joanna struggled to keep up. I would ignore Heather and Matthew, while they may have defied expectations, it was not their scents that were on a collision course with seven unfamiliar vampires.

A fight behind me, a quandary before me, a scent above me, and a trail below me.

We made it to the clearing in record time, only to find it utterly devoid of life. The Cullens had cleared their path well, the grass, formerly fresh and green and covered with their individual fragrances, was scorched black and smoldering, all hint of odor gone with the tendrils of smoke. Everything that had happened before the fire had been wiped clean, and all traces of me, or Heather , of my family were gone The human's scent had been completely destroyed. The absence of smell and the presence of tire tracks were the greatest clues. She had taken a car, and her mate had left with her.

"Lawrence followed the car," Joanna said, her lips parted slightly as she tasted the air.

I nodded. "So we'll follow the rest. Try to head him off."

* * *

 **A/N: Question of the week: Which characters do you think are "good" and which do you think are "bad"? Are any of them entirely one or the other?**


	5. Chapter 5 - Golden Eyes

I intended to circle the beautiful gardens around the house, and examine the mansion through the intricately designed floor to ceiling windows. I meant to get my bearings before I walked the magnificent oak staircase to the porch, but Carlisle and Jasper were waiting for us at the door. The leader was at the mouth of the stairs, his posture relaxed, and a gentle smile on his face. Jasper stood near the door, arms clasped behind his back. The usual uneasiness of confrontation did not cross my mind, and I was feeling the same waves of calm that had washed over me earlier. Jasper was wearing the same charming half-smile.

"You're expecting us," I surmised, my gaze darting over the scene before me. Carlisle nodded, his placid expression unwavering.

"I'm sorry," I began, carefully placing a look of sympathy on my features. My brows drew together and my lips formed a gentle pout. "We think Lawrence is going after the hu - after Bella."

I caught myself before I could disparage their human with the name of her species. I continued, "He told us he was hunting, and then he just . . . disappeared."

"Yes," Carlisle responded, bowing his head in ascension, "my son, Edward, he read his intentions."

"He's a telepath?" I asked, tilting my head to the side. My question was ignored.

"What is it we can do for you?" Jasper said, strong and calm and Southern, but laced with suspicion. It was woven in his golden eyes.

I cocked my head to the side. "I would ask you to spare my brother, but I fear that is unreasonable."

"We won't take his life if it isn't necessary," Carlisle spoke, "But if he threatens our family . . . "

"I understand," I breathed. An image flashed through my mind of Lawrence's head, tangled black hair fanning around it as it rolled, free from the burden of his body. His body, which was crumbled in my vision, alight with the beginnings of an inferno. I couldn't meet his eyes as I said it, even as it passed my lips I knew it was only a meager half-truth.

"There is something you want?" Carlisle asked, though his voice told me he knew there was. I closed my eyes against the pain, only for a moment, but it was long enough to conjure the image I needed. The image of Lawrence's head, separate from his body, was surrounded by almost half a dozen more: Heather's, fully obscured by her wildly curly mane; Matthew's, his mouth hanging open in a ghastly, silent scream; my own, with crimson eyes blown wide and venom oozing from my missing neck; and my baby sister's, the most gruesome of all, her cherub-like face not only ripped at the throat but also torn down the middle, a chunk of her cheek and full lips missing.

"Joanna and I won't fight you," I said, finality ringing in my voice.

Jasper raised an eyebrow. "And the other two?"

"They went south." Joanna spoke for the first time, her arms folded nervously across her chest and her eyes on the ground. "They won't fight either."

"You didn't go south with them?" Carlisle asked.

I shook my head. "We were hoping we could intercept Lawrence before he got here. Perhaps we could have talked some sense into him. There is still a chance of that, Carlisle."

I spoke to their leader only now, the one whose lack of scars told me he had never fought and whose soft, kind voice told me he did not want to. With a measured look and careful words, I played to this.

"If we may stay for a while," I said, "we might avoid a fight."

"Yes," Carlisle assented, "You may come in."

When we entered the Cullen household, I could feel the weight of six pairs of eyes on me, and could feel the contentious mood, as it was very nearly palpable. Though only one face showed only one emotion. The beautiful blonde woman - Rosalie - stalked around the living room with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her pants. Her exquisite features held a rage so intense it would have been disfiguring on anyone else. The other two women, Esme and Alice, huddled together on a couch, their dark hair mixing together as their heads leaned into each other, both looking weary.

Carlisle entered the room behind us, and Jasper after him, pulling the door tightly closed. As soon as latter crossed the threshold, and gave his attention to the room, the mood began to lift. I could feel my own heart lighten, and the expressions of the Cullens all seemed to soften.

"They're coming!" Alice spoke from the couch.

Joanna and I looked between ourselves, each wearing a matching expression of confusion and apprehension, with our crimson eyes and mirrored face shapes, we had never looked more identical. Then we glanced at the others, none of them seeming unnerved by the announcement.

"My sister," Jasper explained, "can see the future."

Joanna and I exchanged glances before she spoke, "Who is coming?"

"Emmett, Edward and Bella," Alice said, her voice a light wind chime, "Lawrence will leave Charlie alone now."

"Charlie?" Joanna asked, turning to Carlisle, as he was the most willing to accept us. "Who is that?"

"Bella's father," he responded. The brunette woman came to stand next to him and slipped her hand into his, her chestnut hair swaying over her kind-looking honey eyes. Carlisle had introduced Esme as his wife and the adoptive mother of his children. Looking at her gentle expression, it was easy to see it. Carlisle continued, "she argued with him and left within earshot of your brother. She wanted to make sure he would be safe. Lawrence will follow only Bella, correct? He is focused?"

"He should be," I said as I processed the information. It was a clever plan, though risky, to let my brother that close, and, though it had seemed to have been a success, it could have easily gone awry. I continued, "Unless he thinks taking or killing her father will benefit the hunt in some way."

They all cast long, inquisitive glances at Alice, but she merely shook her head, indicating Charlie's life would not fall into any danger.

The oak doors flew open, slamming into the wall, as Edward burst through them. His expression was one of fear and anger, the strongest emotional display of all of his family, especially sharp in contrast to Emmett, who was grinning jovially as he lugged Bella into the room. Her expression was unreadable, all of the conflicting emotions she must be feeling blurring into a blank mask. She and Emmett both startled when they saw me and Joanna, but their expressions smoothed again upon a quick read of the room, seeing their family all set calm.

"He's tracking her," Edward spit, his words were an invisible jab of an accusing finger. I could feel it as if it were corporeal.

I nodded solemnly. "I feared that would happen. Were you able to lead him away from Bella's father?"

"Ye - "

Edward's response was interrupted by the quietest of squeaks, but we all stopped to pay attention to the mouse. Bella said, "why are you helping us?"

"I'm not . . ." I hesitated. Edward could read my mind, and I guessed Jasper could read my mood. Carlisle understood my sentiment, and the rest had enough years with their family to trust their gifts completely. It was the only reason they trusted me, and my sister. How would I put it into words? How would I explain my position to someone who could not read my sincerity in my thoughts? It sounded flimsy, even to my own ears. With a deep breath and the warmth of a comforting smile in my eyes, I continued. "I am trying to prevent a fight. For reasons I hope you never understand, my family has lost enough in this past year. However, if it does come to a fight . . . I'm not on your side."

"You won't fight with him?"

The voice came from behind me, from one of the Cullen men, but it came too fast for me to put a name to its cadence and tone. But I could detect the note of incredulity, the condemnation they felt for me not standing with my brother.

"Lawrence made his decision," I said. I was still looking at Bella, but my words were meant for the voice behind me, and for any of the Cullen's who misunderstood my position or who doubted my convictions. "He left us to hunt the human, and he knew what that would mean."

I could feel the human - Bella - flinch at my words, drawing her arms around her chest and pulling into herself. I gave her an apologetic look.

"I think we're past hoping this will resolve itself peacefully," Edward snarled, "I read it in his mind. He is unilaterally focused. If you won't help, perhaps you should leave."

There was a genuine threat behind the words.

"No," I said, shaking my head vehemently. His eyebrows shot up, but his reaction was but a breeze on my shoulder, and I continued, "We'll leave if we are asked to, of course - "

"Asked to by Carlisle?" He said, voice hard.

I continued, turning to their leader as I spoke. He met me with calm expression. "Yes. Please allow us to stay. I know it seems grim now, but if anything were to change, we could still be of use."

"We don't have much time," Alice chimed from the back of the room, both disjointed and completely relevant, "Lawrence will be here in ten minutes. He won't try and come in, but Bella should be gone."

Carlisle glanced briefly around his family. "We'll vote on it. Quickly."

It took me by surprise to hear a leader with such democratic notions, as it contrasted so sharply with the leadership of my own family. Though we were fractured and a bit rudderless at the moment, Augustine had always been a strong autocratic leader - unquestionably fair and graceful, but not one to crowdsource orders. My family was more militaristic, I supposed.

Carlisle began the roll call, "Edward?"

"No," he growled, "they aren't our family, and they shouldn't be part of this."

Carlisle nodded curtly and turned to the two vampires by the couch. Alice sat primly on the piece of furniture, her brittle-looking legs crossed and her arms hanging relaxed at her sides. Jasper stood behind the couch, behind the pixie, with his hands clasped behind his back and his back ramrod straight, in the posture of a soldier. Carlisle said, "Jasper? Alice?"

The dark-haired pixie let her eyes drift close and they began to flick back and forth rapidly underneath her lavender eyelids, darting with the pictures that began to flow behind them. Jasper hovered behind her, watching and waiting, strong and stoic. Alice's bright eyes popped open and she chirped, "They help more often than not."

That lost me, and Joanna as well, for we exchanged equal looks of surprise and confusion. No one even glanced at us, and we received no answer to our unspoken question.

"Jasper?"

"They should stay." His drawl was steady.

Edward glared and lashed out with his words, hurling a stream of profanity at his brother. His voice rang out, though full of anger, at a register so low his human mate could not hear it. Jasper did not flinch or waver, though the full weight of Edward's emotions was surely being thrown at him. He just waited for his brother's fit to pass. Jasper continued in a calm voice, "They may be helpful, yes, but they may run to their brother as soon as we let them go - "

I opened my mouth to protest, finding his suggestion both presumptuous and entirely unpleasant, but he met my gaze with steady eyes, and, without missing a beat, continued, "whether they intend to already or not. Things change. I think it would be better to keep an eye on them."

"You want to hold us prisoner?" Joanna gasped, her eyes blown wide in incredulity. I set my jaw, angered as well by the suggestion, but I held my tongue with greater ease than my spitfire sister. I fought the fire in my stomach and the lump in my throat to make my voice sound gentle. I said, "Joanna, I'm sure that's not the intention . . ."

I glanced at Jasper, curious at how my words were being received. He looked almost amused with a slight smirk and a raised eyebrow. He must be feeling my anger, and I'm sure it, contrasted with the forced gentleness in my voice, was comical. And it made me sure keeping us prisoner was exactly his intention. But my sister's wrath would win us no favors, whether we be partners with the Cullens or prisoners of war. So, I continued, "we would understand if you don't want to leave us alone."

"I think we will need to take your cell phones too, if you have them," Jasper said, his measured gaze boring into me. It stoked the flames of fury inside of me, and I gritted my teeth. I tried to keep my emotions under control as I said, "yes. I understand."

I slipped my hand into the hidden inner pocket of my jacket and pulled out the small, silver flip phone, placing it in his waiting hand. He tucked it into his own pocket quickly, and turned his attention to my sister. I had moved with usual grace, but she moved with purposeful anger, stuffing her hand into her back pocket and extracting her own device. She slammed it down into Jasper's hand with a deafening metallic crack, using so much force I thought it would break. His expression never faltered.

Carlisle sighed heavily, expressing his discontent with our little performance.

The mood suddenly shifted. The red that threatened to creep into my vision, and that I knew had already overtaken Joanna's, faded quickly, and was replaced with calming waves of peace and tranquility. I looked to Jasper, sure he was behind the sudden change in atmosphere. His smirk had relaxed into a neutral expression, and his gaze had shifted from me to Carlisle. The bulge of my and Joanna's cellphones was clear in his pocket, though I could no longer bring myself to care. I sighed, letting the calm overtake me. Though I may have found it annoying how easily his gift could shift the tone of my thoughts, begging the question of if I could think rationally under its influence, the very gift itself rendered me uncaring about any potential ill effects. It was almost a relief to be free of the stress, to have the burden of leadership, however temporary or transient, off of my shoulders. They felt physically lighter.

The rest of their show of democracy passed much in the way that I would expect. After Jasper had spoken, no one else had doubted his position. Though he did not appear to be their leader, and did, at least on the surface, defer to Carlisle, his words rang with such casual authority and finality no one questioned him. Every other Cullen had given their ascension to us staying. Even Edward, though he was annoyed to be contradicted, eventually admitted we shouldn't be trusted to leave.

Once the decision had been made about what to do with us, everything seemed to move in a whirlwind. Alice had announced they had five minutes to get Bella out of the house.

Joanna and I were trapped on the couch under Jasper's watchful eye, as he stood over us with his arms crossed and his stance authoritative. There was no longer a reason to question decisions I had made to bring us to this couch, as we had truly become prisoners of war. I was sitting with my arms crossed in front of my chest and a forced neutral expression, and Joanna did the same. If we were the prisoners, then Jasper was our jailer, and it was clear in his posture and in the way he regarded us. He starred us down and, though his gaze was focused, it was not overtly hard or threatening, but unusually calm. His face was also neutral.

Edward hovered around Bella, barking out orders born of snap decisions to his girlfriend, who followed them with jerky, uncoordinated movements. Her own clothes were ripped from her in haste, replaced by those worn by the female Cullens, whose sweet scents would cover her own delicious fragrance, if only temporarily. The vampires slipped their own garments off and replaced them with Bella's, letting their perfume be eclipsed by her human aroma. It was all an attempt to throw Lawrence off of any scent trail.

And then they took off, tossing a dazed Bella into a black Mercedes with impossibly tinted windows. Carlisle and Esme left with her as well; the patriarch in the driver's seat, and the mother sat is the backseat with her charge, letting the girl's head fall into her lap. They peeled off at speeds that easily exceeded one hundred miles per hour. They were to drive her south, to her hometown of Phoenix, Arizona, and hide her there.

Alice would stay in the Cullen house, her vision not on the present, but deep into the futures, examining every possible explanation. She would act as the control center for their operation, distributing her vision to the proper parties: to Carlisle and Esme if Lawrence drew to close to Arizona; to her siblings if my own brother drew to close to Bella's father; or to Jasper if Joanna and I grew, as they put it, 'restless'.

Emmett, Rosalie, and Edward formed a sort of hunting party, the only part of this plan that gave me pause, and the reason Jasper lingered at the house as our guard. Though he would undoubtedly be an asset to them in their attempts to kill my brother, his gift could be better served with us, as he could sense our emotions, and, by extension, or intentions. The Cullen children would by tracking my brother's scent from the clearing in the woods, it would lead them east at first, suddenly jolting to the south, then west, back towards Forks, to Bella's house. From there, I could not guess where the trail went, as it could lead here, or to Phoenix.

"He smelled Bella's scent on the road," Alice announced, "He knows she isn't here anymore. He won't come."

I sighed. So much for talking to him.

I sat like a statue on the brown leather couch in the Cullen's living room, my eyes focused on the brilliant white of the wall, unblinking and unmoving. I didn't want to betray my emotions to a stranger before I understood them myself, so I did not give myself room to think of my family, or their future. Even their present, as unknown as it was for Heather or Matthew. I did not let my eyes drift to anything that would carry thoughts of them. Joanna sat next to me, just as unmoving, and, though we exchanged no words, I knew our minds would usually turn in the same way.

We remained still, but the world moved around us. Alice was sketching a scene of one of her visions: Lawrence with his hand gripping a scrap of fabric, anger and disbelief chiseled into his marble face, with a brook behind him and a flowering maple just to his left. Though we had been this way for hours, carved marble on cool leather, I suddenly shifted my gaze for the first time, choosing to focus instead on the man sitting in front of me. Letting a whim move me, my eyes focused on the man in front of me - Jasper. He watched me and my sister with careful, flickering eyes that darted from my face to hers.

He raised an eyebrow at my sudden move, subtle as it may be. "Yes?"

"Why are your eyes that color?" I asked, aching for light chatter to occupy my thoughts. Through my hours of immobility, I had exhausted the list of classic literature I had memorized, and had run through every movement every composer I knew had ever written.

It did not elicit the reaction I had expected, though I didn't know what that was until I saw his reaction and was surprised. He laughed, letting his eyes crinkle and the unknown humor reached the topaz pools of his irises. Though there was an edge of bitterness to his laugh, his face was so strikingly handsome in this moment. I may have expected a simple answer, or a refusal to speak at all, but I did not expect to be caught so off guard by his looks.

"It's because of our diet," Jasper said, the humor in his eyes dancing at my confusion. I broke the bonds of my statue then, turning my whole body, instead of just my eyes to him. My eyes dropped from their tightly crossed position to hang loosely at my sides.

"Your diet?" I asked, "You don't drink blood?"

I heard Alice's light, musical giggle ring out before Jasper continued, "We don't drink human blood."

"You drink animal blood?" I asked, my voice sounding full of wonder, though what I was feeling could be considered closer to confusion. I had heard tale of people - vampires - who drank the blood of animals, but they were not pleasant stories. They always opened with a desperate creature, starved and crawling through the dirt of a forest, alone and abandoned by his coven. There were no people around, not even a lone hiker or stray hermit, and the vampire would be an inch from death. Then, a grotesque smell would float across the air, and the wretched vampire would see a herd of deer, or a bobcat. In his starvation, the lowly mammal would seem like a life-giving spring, and the Vampire would drink. His vitality would be restored, but only in part. His throat would still burn with unquenched fire, and his strength would wane until it was barely greater than that of a human. And, though his life could continue, every joy would be sucked from it, and he would be a mere shell of the powerful monster he had once been.

This was a story we had all been told, so quickly after we woke up, almost like the bedtime stories human children were told and that we ourselves had been told when we were human children, of wolves and three little pigs. I had believed these stories with my whole being, and had never tried to quench my thirst on anything less than a human. Though, seeing the vampires before me, Jasper with his strength and full life, I began to question the fables. Like those stories of our human babyhood, perhaps these fables had only served to teach us lessons. Not to stray from the clan, as the man had only met with destitute fate after defying his family. Or maybe, it was something more sinister, a plot spun by people far above and far before our Company leaders.

I knew these stories were common among the south, as every southern vampire I had ever met seems to have heard the same warnings. I asked Jasper as much, curious - no, desperate - to know how he came to live this lifestyle.

"Yes," he replied, "I always heard those stories as well, but they are not true. "

I shook my head, the stories he was telling were fighting to get through the thick wall of prejudice that I had built around my heart. Vampires must kill humans.

"I have lived this way since 1950, and my siblings long before that. Carlisle has been . . . vegetarian -"

The moniker was accompanied by a smirk as it passed his lips, a private joke.

"- for almost four hundred years."

I gaped at him, "That's possible?"

My eyes were blown wide in wonder, and I fought my lips as they tried to hang open. I felt a small warm candle light its fire in my chest, the smallest flicker of a flame: hope.

Jasper's expression changed, his mouth turned down into a slight frown, and his eyes wrinkled, almost as though he was confused. I did not understand the emotion, nor the basis of it. And I didn't care in the moment, for I was cast into another world, a vision of the future - though it was created of my imagination and not born of a true sight. I could see myself, hair flying behind me and I leapt at a wild creature. It was a flash of tawny fur and then a spray of blood, so I could not determine the species.

I almost gagged. I imagined the taste in that moment, letting the smell of the forest creatures - the high fetid smell of their blood - to transform into a taste. It was the worst thing that had ever passed my lips, even in imagination. These vampires must be insane. to live this way.

* * *

 **A/N: Question of the week: What are Sarah's motivations? Joanna's? Are they the same?**

 **Thanks for reading! - Elizabeth**


	6. Chapter 6 - A Reluctant History

Two days had passed since Carlisle and Esme had taken Bella down to Phoenix. They had kept her in a hotel with the curtains drawn and the 'do not disturb' sign on the door. Not that we had been directly told any of this - Joanna and I were still prisoners, kept under Jasper's watchful eye - but our enhanced hearing let us know everything that was going on. We heard every phone call, both those coming up from Arizona, and those from the other Cullen children, giving their periodic updates. From what I could gather, Lawrence's scent had been washed away by the rain as he was headed out of Washington State. They were worried he was moving south, towards Arizona, and ultimately towards Bella.

Edward, Rosalie, and Emmett came back to regroup. The blonde vampire marched immediately upstairs, without so much as a word to anybody, to strip the clothes from her body. They were covered in the musk of the forest and the lingering sweetness of Bella's scent. The shower turned on, and her sigh of relief echoed through the house. Edward sped to the living room, his glare singularly focused on my sister and me. Emmett followed a step behind with his arms crossed and his chest puffed out, like an enforcer. Edward's pitch colored eyes had narrowed to slits, and he bared his fangs as he leaned in close to my face.

"Talk," he spit.

And say what? I thought, I didn't know anything.

"You know something!" Edward continued, "his patterns, habits, anything."

My eyes blew wide in recognition. He had read my mind.

Edward smirked, confirming my suspicions.

I threw my energy into trying to shield my thoughts from his intrusions. Though I had to admit, even to myself, I had no idea how to do that.

"We're trying to prevent a fight," Joanna said, "why would we help you kill him?"

"He's still going after Bella," Edward said, dangerous gaze flickering between Joanna's face and mine.

"You don't know that," my sister retorted, "he could have left because he gave up."

Edward's smile turned mocking. "Now, does that really sound like him?"

It didn't. I had seen the singular focus with which he picked and pursued his victims in the year or so we had spent together. For the most part, vampires are opportunists. We find the most convenient human in the vicinity and dispatch them quickly, satisfying our thirst. It's usually vagrants, criminals, and any other person society had deemed worthless. But Law was different. He took pleasure in picking and tracking down his victims. The hunt itself was thrilling. He would stalk and taunt them, driving them into a panic. For hours, or days, he would appear in their windows, a flash of a shadow in the corner of their living room. As much pleasure as he derived from the hunt, the process of killing them was better. He would snap their bones as he tore into them, and rip them apart at the joints. This wasn't the way I, other members of my family, or vampires as a whole chose to live.

But I had always chosen to look the other way.

He redeemed himself in the way he treated our family. He was a fiercely loyal friend, and he had fought alongside us, in the trenches together. And he was kind to us, especially Heather. He was my brother.

"You know it's wrong, Sarah," Edward cooed, "just tell us how to find him."

I realized two things in this moment. One: he had heard every word of my inner monologue, and two: he was trying to manipulate me. I bristled and my jaw clenched, but the initial violation I fell away, replaced by a warm feeling of trust and safety. This manipulation couldn't have come from Edward. I spared a glance at his brother, and saw Jasper's gaze was intent on me. For the second time, I felt relief at his influence.

"He's depraved," I admitted slowly, "even by the standards of our kind."

"Sarah!" Joanna gasped, sending the back of her hand flying into my arm. The incredulity in her features brought my senses hurtling back to me, and I suddenly felt like I deserved a lot more than my sister's slap. How could I betray my brother so easily?

I shook off Jasper's emotional influence and Edwards imploring look, and made my features a mask of indifference, determined not to let their manipulations affect me again.

In the back of the room, a meek voice gasped. Alice, the tiny dark-haired vampire, had shrunk into the couch and her eyes had glazed over. Her petite body was shaking. Edward's eyes bore into her, peering into her mind as her extra senses turned. Jasper ran to her, and rested a steadying hand on her arm. In a small, shaky voice, she described the flashes of her visions. They were coming across in incoherent, bright, color-saturated scenes.

 _A car sped along a highway, the bright sun glinting off it's glossy, royal blue exterior. It was a Chevy SS: light and inconspicuous, but deceptively fast. It hurtled down the light gray, mica flecked pavement, causing tiny rainbows to bounce in the dark-tinted panel of the windshield. The sky was saturated in a variety of sunny, bright blues. There were blurry flashes of greens rising from the faded yellow background as the car hurtled past the sparse vegetation. The sedan's license plate had a background that looked like a watercolor painting of a mountain, with large red letters across the top spelling out 'Washington'._

"Who is that?" Edward demanded, "Carlisle took his Mercedes."

His stare turned to my sister and me, seeking an answer, but we had none to offer him. We didn't know anybody that drove a blue Chevy, let alone one with Washington plates.

 _The sun was setting on a beach, turning the foamy surf into a dancing mirror, reflecting the brilliant oranges and purples of the sky as the waves broke against the sand. Towards the horizon, the mirror was broken into tiny shards that rose and fell with the waves. The sun sat low on the skyline and glowed brilliantly. The silhouette of a couple broke up the serene setting. They sat just above where the waves broke on the shore. A tall, well-muscled man with his arm around a young woman. Flyaway strands of her pale, curly hair glinted in the light of the setting sun._

Jasper said, "too much sun to be Washington. That sounds like the southwest. California, judging by the water. Alice, do you see any road signs?"

Alice rattled off the description of another vision. This one was short and simple: the blue car had re-appeared, just as it passed the "Welcome to Arizona" sign.

Edward launched himself from his seat, flying to the heavy oak door and sending his fist through it. Splinters of wood flew from the gaping hole he had left, showering the room. A growl ripped from deep in his lungs, and his eyes flared and burned with anger. Anger he soon turned to me and Joanna.

"They. Are. Helping. Him," he hissed. I knew it was Matt and Heather that Alice had seen, it had clicked into place as soon as she had described the vision. The well-built man, the woman with snowy blonde hair, even Arizona made sense.

"What?" Edward said, temper flaring, "What do you mean Arizona makes sense?"

His bared teeth snapped a fraction of an inch away from me, his frigid breath battering my face.

"Take a step back," I said, my voice a measured calm with an undercurrent of a threat. I did not back down.

A growl rose from the base of his throat, and his shoulder twitched as though it was aching to throw a punch at me. My own body tensed and I prepared to absorb the hit and counter it with a swing of my own. I would have to take his head off in one blow. His siblings would no doubt step into action, and Joanna and I were very outnumbered. We couldn't spare a second.

But a snow white, heavily scarred hand came to rest on Edward's shoulder, and an aura of peace suddenly surrounded me. I sank into the couch, instantly relaxed as I let the warm fuzzy feelings overtake me, and Edward straightened, but his face was still screwed in annoyance.

"Relax, Edward," Jasper warned.

Edward wrenched his shoulder out from under his brother's touch, saying, "she thinks it makes sense her two siblings went to Arizona. Where Bella is."

"It makes sense," I said, "because Heather spent her human life in Mesa. She would feel comfortable there, especially since we were separated. In different circumstances, it would have been the first place I looked for her. And Matt is her mate; he'll go wherever she does. They have no way of knowing your human is in Phoenix."

Edward gritted his teeth, but found nothing to protest in my answer, or in whatever he had gleaned from reading my and Joanna's minds. To Jasper, he asked, "How far is Mesa from Phoenix?"

"'Bout half an hour by car."

Then, he turned to Alice, who was still sitting on the adjacent couch, and said, "go call Carlisle and Esme, and have them move Bella. Even if they don't know she is there, that is too close for my comfort."

She scurried to the phone.

I didn't pay attention to the call she placed. I knew the gist of what she would say. Instead, I turned my attention to my little sister. She was leaning into the couch, no doubt under Jasper's influence as well. She could use a change of clothes - her own jean shorts and t-shirt were ripped in various places and stained with months' worth of dirt and grass, a product of the time we had spent on the run with no access to much civilization, let alone a change of clothes. Her usually straight hair was knotted in kinks and tangles, and bits of dried blood and mud clung to the ends, clumping them together. Most unsettling of all was the pitch color her eyes had become. Though I tried to find it, there wasn't even a hint of red left. Her thirst burned my throat. Quick mental math told me it had been three days since I had fed, and she had gone nearly four more on top of that. I wondered if the Cullens would let us hunt.

"Absolutely not," Edward said, whipping around to face me, "that is out of the question."

"What?" Emmett asked, turning back towards the living room. He had begun to climb the stairs as soon as he thought the tension had sufficiently decreased, wandering off to look for Rosalie.

"They want to hunt," Edward sneered.

"Okay." Emmett said, "Jazz and I will go too. We'll keep an eye on them."

A series of looks and nonverbal communications I didn't fully understand were exchanged between the Cullens. Edward frowned at Emmett and shook his head, conveying his extreme disapprovement of this idea. Emmett shrugged in response, and shot a sidelong glance at Jasper, who grimaced. Then, all three men turned to look at Alice: Emmett with simple curiosity, Edward with angry expectation, and Jasper with an expression that bordered on desperation. Alice shrugged and shook her head.

"Edward and I will go with them," Rosalie huffed from the upstairs landing, breaking up the series of meaningful stares. She wore a clean set of clothes, freshly blow-dried hair, and an impatient expression.

Edward said, "I don't want them to go at all."

"They should hunt," Jasper said, "Thirsty vampires are a lot more . . . volatile."

"Fine," Edward hissed at his brother, then turned to me. "Tell me why I should trust you."

I quirked an eyebrow, and my eyes darted over his features as I tried to read his mind. "What do you want?"

"We know nothing about you," he said, "I mean . . . "

His burning topaz glare slid over my marred skin, examining my body in a way that made my stomach clench.

". . . I can take a guess," he said, "but how can I trust you when the only thing I know is your first name?"

"If I tell you about myself," I said, tapping my fingernails against my thigh, "will you let us hunt?"

He gave a curt nod.

I told my story in a mix of my fuzzy human memories - only bits and pieces of particularly important things stuck - as well as the facts and figures my curiosity had prompted me to dig up later in my existence. Before going through old censuses, I could only vaguely remember the year I was born. I took a deep breath and began, "I was born Sarah Carter in the spring of 1846. Joanna is my biological sister, and she was born a little over two years later. Our mother died giving birth to her."

A piece of memory came to me then:

 _JoJo, chubby cheeked and fresh faced at six years old, was skipping in circles around our small, wooden chicken coop. Two twin plaits bounced against her back, and the sun was high in the sky. Our farm was small, so every member of our family was expected to pitch in, even the two young girls who were capable of little more than gathering the eggs every morning and milking our lone, old cow. That was exactly what we did. Every day, just as the sun crested over the horizon, our father would shoo us from the house and out towards the chicken coop, and I would gather the eggs while she played in the nearby grass._

 _I ducked inside the dusty, feather filled hut, but, as my small hand was reaching out for the first egg, I heard a sharp scream and a sickening crack. I fled from the coop, abandoning my basket on the ground, and ran to the other side. My sister, her tiny face streaked with tears and contorted in a wail, was lying on the ground, blood seeping from underneath her stockings and staining the white fabric._

" _I fell!" she cried, pointing towards the top of the chicken coop._

 _I managed to hoist her onto my back, and we hobbled back to the house._

 _My father scolded me for forgetting the eggs._

That was the first time I could remember feeling responsible for my little sister, but I didn't say this out loud.

"I don't remember that," Joanna said softly, looking intently into my eyes. I shrugged, and continued my story, as I could tell Edward was quickly losing his patience.

"Our father died a few years after that," I said, "and we were sent to live with our maternal uncle. He had invested in the railroad and become quite rich. He had a large house and no children of his own, and he was frequently away on business. We were left in the care of our neighbor. She had a son a few years older than me. His name was Samuel."

I gave another glance around the room. Alice was nowhere to be seen, as she had stolen herself away after her phone call with Carlisle and had yet to return. Rosalie looked bored, and was fiddling with the ends of her curly blonde hair. She had tucked herself under Emmett's arm, and they sat on the couch together. Emmett watched me with simple curiosity, listening to what I had to say. Edward still wore the same furious expression he had when I had first encountered him that morning. Though it had waxed and waned throughout our encounters, it had always returned. It seemed to be his natural countenance. Jasper watched me with a blank expression, the only hints of thought coming through were the slight flickers of recognition in his eyes. I had already counted him a soldier because of his impeccable posture and tendency to notice every small detail, but it was because of these flickers that I determined he was a soldier of the Confederacy.

I departed from my speculations and began my story again, sharing another memory:

 _My stomach clenched with the aftershocks of my contractions, sending spasms and pain down my splayed thighs and up my ravaged stomach. I could feel the blood gushing, warming the straw-stuffed mattress upon which I lay. My gaze flickered in and out, black and fuzzy at the edges. However, my resolve was solid. I wanted to hold my infant child, to learn its gender, its eye color, and to memorize its face. My heart ached. Distant wails pierced through the buzzing in my ears, and a small weight appeared on my chest, squirming and writhing and wrapped in a muslin cloth. I gazed upon his beautiful face, his sweet blue eyes, and I breathed his name._

" _Samuel."_

Rosalie, whose interest had been piqued by my latest memory, asked, "You named him after his father, I presume? Your nanny's son?"

"Yes," I answered, looking into her alight eyes. "He became my husband. Though, I think it was a marriage of convenience, because I don't remember loving him, and that does seem the kind of thing one would remember."

"You were young?" She pressed, "when you got married and had a baby?"

Her voice had taken on a buoyant, dreamy quality, like her mind was just as lost in her memories as I was in mine.

I said, "Seventeen when I was married. Eighteen when my son was born."

"Enough about the baby," Edward snapped, "Tell me something relevant. How were you changed?"

* * *

 **A/N: Question of the week: are you eager to learn more about The Augustines? Are they, as a family, interesting? Thanks for reading, and a special thanks to everyone who has followed, favorited, or left a review! - Elizabeth**


	7. Chapter 7 - The Burning of Atlanta

_November 20th, 1864_

 _Atlanta, Georgia_

I couldn't light the fireplace. Though it was winter, though my fingertips were turning blue, though my breath hung in the air, I could not bring myself to do it. There had been enough fire in these last few days. If I lived a thousand years, I would never want for flames again. The ash was thick in the air, still settling, and every surface was covered in it: the sheets, the food, our skin, the lining of our lungs. My baby boy's crib, and his hair, and his face. I had wrapped him tightly in our last clean sheet, hoping to warm his tiny, cold body. Around myself, I wrapped the last quilt my mother had stitched before she passed - a pretty blue and green affair from the Job's Tears pattern.

Salty tears ran from Samuel's wide blue eyes - a perfect match to mine, I was crying as well - and his lips were parted in a silent cry.

"Hush, Samuel," I soothed, rocking the baby boy in my arms, caressing his skin with a damp cloth as I washed the soot from his cherubic countenance. I took special care around his nose and mouth, and I whispered my morning prayers over him. I took special care for his protection.

"Mmm-ah, mmm-ah," he cooed, not quite 'Mama'.

"Yes, my son." I readjusted my night clothes and letting him latch. His hand kneaded against my skin like a kitten, fists curling in my dress. He gazed up into my eyes. Innocence and affection. "I'm your Mama. I love you."

As my son nursed, I gazed out the window and into the turbulent night. My neighbors - old men, widowed mothers, and any boys too young to fight - threw buckets of water into each others arms, then onto the blaze that still lit Mr. Jackson's hardware store. Mr. Jackson had been killed last month, in the battle at Allatoona. A second group of haggard citizens worked to put out the inferno that consumed the minister's home. Faint ringing of screams echoed through the night, but I could not be sure if they were coming from the outside, or merely ringing in my own mind.

I looked back down at my young son, and I began to hum a song so familiar it was worn into my bones.

" _Praise God from whom all blessings flow"_

The sun had begun to rise, casting a fiery orange glow across the ruins of the city. It compelled my head to turn from the window, back towards my little Samuel, back towards solace. The baby - asleep for nearly two hours now - stirred in his crib, but did not wake. The fires in the minister's home and the hardware store had been put out, and were sending gray curls of smoke to the heavens. My sister, who had been one of those rushing to put the last of the fires out, had returned from her duties with her hair falling out of a messy plait and ash smeared across her sweaty forehead. The floor boards groaned under her weight as she milled around the kitchen, unwrapping slightly stale biscuits and pouring coffee into three small tin mugs. One for her, one for me, and one for my sister-in-law, who would be watching the children while Joanna and I took our shift at the hospital.

As we sipped our coffee, my nimble fingers quickly re-braided her hair, and we forced jovial smiles on our faces. We were supposed to look good for the wounded, you see. 'Even in such desperate times,' our supervising doctor had said, 'injured soldiers deserve to look at pretty, smiling girls.'

The walk to the hospital was a short one, as our 'hospital' was nothing but the cleared-out sanctuary of a nearby Baptist church. It was large, as churches went, and rather beautiful when it was not filled with blood and waste and putrefying wounds. An ornately carved statue depicting Jesus on the cross of Calvary sat behind the pulpit. This was where the minister was now, on his knees begging God to spare the souls of the men who lay dying behind him. He prayed for himself as well, after all, it was through his own grace and kindness that he had opened his church doors in the first place. Surely, he deserved something for that?

Occasionally, the minister would get the whim to hold church. These fancies would strike him at all times of the day and night, and, when they did, he would raise his hands to the Heavens and preach about sins and forgiveness. He would lead his congregation of suffering soldiers in song. Those who were strong enough would raise their voices along with him, giving thanks for their lives and asking for just a little more time on this planet. And for a Confederate victory in this accursed war.

" _Praise Him all creatures here below"_

I changed the dressings of a young man, and engaged him in civil, easy conversation. We chatted about his half dozen children and his pretty Irish wife, Elspeth Jane, who he had left at home in South Carolina. As I told him of my own child, I poured a fresh coat of alcohol over the stump of his shoulder. He hissed in pain, but thanked me when it was done. I was only keeping the gangrenous infections at bay. I hummed a 'my pleasure', and wound new cloth around the old wound. Blood soaked them through immediately. It was not the fresh, bright blood of a clean injury, but the brownish rot that spelled certain death. I wrapped him with another layer of cloth, bid him goodbye, and moved onto my next patient.

I assisted Joanna in holding down a man whose leg was being amputated - his name was John and he was from Tennessee. This was told to us as if it made him unique, as if it could identify him in some way. But he was the dozenth John from Tennessee I had treated, and the third whose leg I had helped to cut off. In the presence of such pain, his mind had run away, leaving him unconscious and blind to the world. But his nerves were still lit like fire, causing his body to jump and writhe of its own accord as the doctor ran the serrated bone saw over his thigh, over and over again.

Colonel Asa Fulton had a gunshot wound to the stomach. He had arrived a few days ago, and he could barely speak. Two days ago, he managed to gather enough pride to tell me that he was originally from Louisiana, and that he had just been promoted. Now, he was only able to mutter a barely intelligible name. It took me a couple of utterances, but I finally managed to hear 'Abigail'.

"Oh?" I said. I had finished with the dressings on his abdomen, and was working to check his pulse. My delicate fingers pressed against his sweaty throat. "Is that your wife?"

"No, no," he hissed. His heartbeat was so weak it was not detectable under my fingertips. Perhaps if I had one of those fancy stethoscopes that were available in the bigger hospitals.

His last words breathed through his cracked lips, "I made a promise . . ."

"Saints of God, come to their aid, come to meet them, Angels of the Lord," I breathed, closing my eyes in a brief moment of prayer.

" _Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts"_

As the day began to draw to a close, and the sun hung low in the sky, I, Joanna, and an assorted few other nurses and doctors were directed to a back corner of the church. There, laid out one by one with white sheets covering their ashen faces, were six corpses. They were not soldiers. We knew this because of their proper clothing - waistcoats, watches, and finely woven fabrics - and their lack of gunshot wounds, the cuts of a sword, or any disease that plagued those on the battlefield. And two of them were women, with ornate hair and the silk strings if their corsets pulled tight.

I myself had forgone the garment today. It was hard enough to breathe in the hospital, and my passing out would not do anybody any good.

There were no marks on the bodies, but dead they were, with cold, dry skin and no fog on the mirrors that we held above their lips. The doctors said they died of smoke inhalation.

Our task was to search their bodies for any identifying artifacts - letters or identification papers - so that we could send notice to their relatives. In order to maintain decorum, Joanna and I checked the two women, while the doctors checked the men. I slowly peeled the sheet off of the first woman. She was a lovely brunette woman who looked every bit as beautiful in death as she must have in life. Her smooth, unblemished skin was paper white, and her caramel colored hair fell in silky curls. Her wine-colored dress flowed outwards from her tiny, corseted waist, but she carried no identification. She carried nothing.

Her eyes snapped open. My breathing ceased. They were the same dark wine as her dress. My instincts understood what my brain could not yet process, as they sent me scrambling backwards, away from the beautiful, cold woman with bloody red eyes. Away from the threat.

"Dear God . . ." I breathed.

" _Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost"_

Blood. Hot, sticky blood poured thick over the wooden floor. Its metallic scent hung in the air, smothering my lungs and choking me. I clung to my sister, fingers curling tight into the bodice of her dress. She clung to me just the same. We were cowered in the corner of the church, behind the pulpit, under Jesus's image. We prayed to God for protection. The creatures laughed, their red eyes glinting with mocking ire. What evil were they that they did not fear the name of the Lord?

The first thing they - those _things_ -had done was lock the doors. They had ripped the pews clean out of the floor with their bare hands. They had thrown them in front of the exits. A few of the healthier soldiers had attempted to tear through the wood barriers. Those men had been tossed back like ragdolls.

Then, they had disposed of the weakest in a cold, callous fashion. Any soldier with infection felt the short, brilliant pain of a snapped neck. The men had used their last, dying breaths to scream or to whisper, to pray for forgiveness or to curse God. To curse the demons that had killed them. And what beautiful creatures those demons were. Ethereally beautiful. Like angels.

The six creatures spread across the room. I couldn't have counted them had they not been lined up under the sheets those long moments ago. The woman I had examined was closest to me. Her bouncy chestnut curls were matted at the ends with dark, coagulating blood. The same blood that dripped from the corners of her full lips.

My own lips parted in a gasp. I had not even noticed her do it - God they moved so quickly - but a dozen men were strewn across the floor, their necks flayed open. Or their wrists, if they had them. All these men were amputees.

The five other demons had bloody grins as well. Just like the grin the chestnut-haired woman had as she crouched in front of me. A strangled cry caught in my throat.

"Do not worry, Doe," the woman cooed. Her thin fingers brushed against my face, shocking me. They were ice. I jerked away from her touch, and further into my sister's arms. Joanna's embrace was crushing. Her heart was pounding.

The woman spoke again, her voice warm and sweet like our afternoon tea. "You are healthy and strong, my Does. You two will survive."

She leaned into me, her frigid breath against my neck.

Two cool words passed her perfect lips, "I hope."

The pain was searing.

" _For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever. Amen"_

* * *

 **A/N: Two questions this week… First up, I took some stylistic liberties with this one. Was it up to par, or too weird? Second, what do you think the purpose of all the religious imagery is? Thanks for reading! - Elizabeth**


	8. Chapter 8 - A Death in Port Angeles

My story had proven sufficient for Edward, so he and Rosalie ushered us out to the garage and into a well-kept Volvo. The ride was full of silent tension.

As Edward made the turn into and overnight parking garage and paid the attendant, the mood shifted from strained to somber. He turned to us with expression more fitting of a funeral and stated we had two hours.

It was, I suppose, somebody's funeral. I felt the small tendrils of guilt creep from the more humane part of my mind. I had always wondered if hunting was easier for nomads as their only exposure to humans came from the hunt itself. My family and I had lived on the fringes of human society for so many years, never quite joining but never so far away I lost the ability to picture a human's face clearly in my mind. Thousands of them actually. We could be sufficiently masked in the nightlife of the college town we had always called home. There were so many faceless, nameless young adults that passed through those bars over the years that no one would ever notice the handful that stayed the same. But I knew their faces. The pretty, round faced blonde woman who worked at the sandwich shop and always took a few too many smoke breaks. The heavily inked couple that spent almost every waking moment in the lobby of the tattoo parlor I was near positive they owned. The worn and weathered homeless man who sat on a different street corner and always had a book in his hand. Greg.

Edward raised an eyebrow at me. "I could always drive you to the forest. Mountain lion isn't that bad."

Joanna scoffed and grabbed my wrist in her small, bony fingers. I was pulled from my thoughts. My sister and I ambled through the streets together, talking quietly between ourselves about the clothes on display in the store windows. The Cullen siblings lingered a half mile behind, carefully balanced to be within the range of Edward's mind reading ability but not so close they could smell the blood of our inevitable kills. We looked for a place - a back alley, or under the trestles of a bridge - where we could get a couple humans alone. The streets themselves were too full of friends and couples and life.

A couple of younger girls scurried through a dark side road, clutching their purses and wrapping their jackets tightly around themselves. They looked like skittish little mice, and I thought it would be cruel to take someone so young. So, we moved on.

Three men stumbled out of the backdoor of a bar, half-finished beers sloshing around in their hands. The bouncer that had escorted them out slammed the door behind them, leaving them alone and mostly out of sight. But the alcohol in their blood had reached and unappetizing level. Mild intoxication could be overlooked, but the levels these men had achieved would leave their blood tasting like vinegar. So, we moved on.

"Well hey there, Baby Girl," a voice came from my left, tucked deep into and alley. This man was middle aged and had the overhanging gut of a man who spent a few too many nights drinking a few too many beers. He had a friend with him. A younger man with dark black hair and unkempt scruff. It must have been early in the night for these men because, despite the bottle of whisky the older man clutched in his hand, their blood didn't reek of poison.

I glanced over at Joanna and she shrugged, saying, "What do you think, Morphine?"

Cullens behind me, drunk victims before me, the night above me, and streets below me.

Wind whistled at my ear, and a deep voice hissed, "Them."

"Edward?" I said, turning to face the man. His expression was livid, almost animalistic. I thought he would take a bite of them himself.

Joanna laughed aloud, but it was harsh and humorless. "Edward! And here I thought you were the epitome of virtue."

People passed by us on the street, dodging us with glares cast our way for stopping the foot traffic. The men called out from the alley, the younger one speaking this time, "come on, Baby, you can do better than Pretty Boy over there."

We ignored him, staring steadily at the vampire in front of us. He gave us no answer and continued to glare at the two men over our shoulders. He said, "just kill them."

Rosalie appeared over his shoulder, letting her icy demeanor drop for a second to edge us closer towards the kill. "They tried to rape Bella. They deserve it."

Joanna scoffed. "That girl is a magnet for danger, isn't she?"

"You have no idea," Edward said.

Joanna and I made our way down the alley together, fake, flirty smiles on our faces. I swayed my hips as I walked.

"Oh yeah."

"Yeah, come 'ere Baby."

The men laughed and bumped each other, forsaking their whisky bottles to grab at our skin. Their blood began to call to me, intensifying the burn in the back of my throat until it was and unbearable fire. I couldn't speak around the flames and was unable to answer when the man asked me my name. I took a deep, languid breath, letting the rich smell wash over me and bathe me in desire. My gift flowed easily from my fingertips and into the man, shutting out the minor aches and pains of human existence - and achy hip here, a mild headache there - and letting absolute bliss wash over him.

The older man grabbed me, sliding his hands over my hips and leaning in to kiss me. A flash of repulsion broke me out of the haze of bloodlust. I dodged his lips and slipped my teeth into his jugular, letting the hot, sweet blood flood my mouth and wash down my throat. He still clutched at my waist, trying to slide his hands lower. I shoved them away, a flash of anger pulsing through me as he interrupted my meal. I closed my eyes and focused on the lightshow. I pictured extinguishing each of the lights, closing the synapses and shutting down his pain receptors. He collapsed in my arms.

"Finally," I hummed, able to enjoy his blood in peace. His taste was warm and yeasty, the way bread or a stout beer smells, but decadent and sweet like chocolate. It poured through my system, faster and faster as his heart worked to feed the last of it's diminishing supply to his brain. When his pulse had stopped and his blood had run dry, I let his body crash to the pavement.

'Saints of God, come to their aid, come to meet them, Angels of the Lord.' I sent my prayer to heaven from the peace of my mind. Though I knew Edward would hear, and he would certainly raise an eyebrow at my musings, I preferred that to the snide comment of the blonde vampire or the exasperated eye roll of my sister.

We made quick work of the bodies, dumping them into the nearby port. Edward drove us back to the Cullen's in silence. I was despondent and spent the trip gazing out the window and into the drizzling night. The rain beaded on the back windows of the Volvo and ran in streaks with the wind of the 80-mph drive.

We were back in the house soon enough, Joanna and I resuming our places on the soft leather couch. My mood remained low. Guilt and regret simmered underneath the surface of my thoughts, staining every notion that passed through my mind. I settled into the melancholy. It would pass. It always did.

Jasper watched me curiously, his honey colored eyes scanning over my face, again and again. I watched him out of my peripheral vision, just like I watched the others. Rosalie and Emmett had left again, taking Edward with them. They were going to make another pass around the city, searching hopelessly for Lawrence's scent. They had looked bored and defeated as they left. Alice sat primly on the couch, her eyes unfocused and looking towards the future. Any hope they had depended on her, and she felt that weight. She refused to move until a vision came to her. Jasper was the only one who paid any attention to Joanna and I.

Suddenly, I was wrapped in feelings so foreign to me I almost didn't recognize them. They were the warmth and comfort that came from late nights by the hearth wrapped in a quilt. Not the blue quilt my mother had made, but the purple, pink, and emerald Tree of Paradise my sister and I had stitched together before I was married.

"Jasper!" Edward snapped at his brother. "Stop empathizing with the prisoners."

"I can't help the empathy," Jasper deadpanned. The comforting feelings stayed with me, the blanket pulling tighter. I felt a strong urge to move closer to the source of these wonderful feelings, hoping they would gain strength with the physical contact.

Alice broke from her trance for a moment to glance between her two siblings, but only for a moment before she slipped back into the future. It made me wonder just how normal an occurrence fights were in the Cullen household.

"Fine," Edward said, still glaring, "but stop helping her. She deserves to feel every bit of pain and guilt for what she just did."

My eyebrows shot up in incredulity, my nails digging tiny cracks into the palm of my hand as I tried to manage my sudden rage. My sister's reaction was more visceral. She jumped to her feet with balled fists and a clenched jaw. She was carrying such anger and contempt that each of the Cullen's tensed in preparation for a fight.

Joanna growled, "I seem to remember a few choice words on your part Saint Eddie."

She spit the last two words like a curse.

I steadied myself before I spoke. "Is it not just as bad to send someone else to kill a man as to do it yourself?"

Edward raised an eyebrow. "Is it not worse to actually pull the trigger than to merely consider it?"

I actually scoffed at that. "You didn't think about pulling the trigger, Edward. You hired the hitman."

* * *

 **A/N So, y'all may have noticed I don't like Edward too much. I always thought he should stow his 'holier than thou' crap. After all, he was the only one of the Cullens who, knowing full well there was another option, made the conscious choice to kill people. Everyone else either did not know there was another option or they slipped up and felt guilty about it. That leads us to the question of the week . . . is Edward too OOC? I'm trying not to let my hatred of him cloud the characterization too much. I feel like he is a pretty intense, moody motherfucker to begin with, so that was kind of what I was going for.**

 **\- Elizabeth**


	9. Chapter 9 - Blood-stained Pages

Rosalie and Emmett had left to hunt as soon as we had returned after the hunt. Rosalie, though she had not risked even a single breath as the humans' blood was being spilled, still suffered from the fire of thirst. Emmett had left to support his mate, and, from what I had gathered from the brief chatter he had shared with Jasper, he never missed an opportunity to wrestle with an angry bear.

The rest of us resumed our positions, though the tone had shifted so drastically. Joanna and I on the leather couch, still sitting like statues, but with our backs against the cushions instead of ramrod straight. My legs were tossed casually over hers and we were throwing a baseball back and forth. Jasper had taken a seat on a nearby armchair - close enough that he could still see us and block the door if we tried to escape, but not so close that he was breathing down our necks - and was thumbing through a copy of 'Waterloo'.

Edward and Alice had failed to catch the mood of the room, as they were still wound as tight as a spring. Alice perched on the adjacent loveseat, deep in the future. Edward stood behind her, glaring at the more relaxed in the room with his hands cured so tightly into the back of the couch that the wooden frame was creaking.

The phone rang.

It was Alice's phone, but Edward's determined hand snatched it from her pocket.

"Yes?" Edward said. The voice on the other end spoke at a blur. It was Carlisle, I presumed, with the assorted background noises of two panicked women - Esme and Bella - and the general chaos of an airport: voices garbling, planes roaring, and footsteps tapping. I couldn't catch the word Carlisle was saying as they were distorted in the phone, but his apparent alarm did not bother me. They were at the airport. They had the human - no, they had 'Bella' - and everything seemed to be peaches and cream.

Edward growled and slammed the phone closed with such force that the fragile screws holding it together snapped. Alice whined to protest the destruction of her property.

"It is not," Edward said, "'peaches and cream'."

Everyone except I raised an eyebrow at his turn of phrase. Though his words brought no confusion, they did draw a reaction in me: a flash of anger that briefly colored my vision red.

I took a moment to languish in the angry haze of thought, imagine the ease with which I would remove his arms from his body if he gave me even half a reason. I would not kill him, for I believed he would prove to be an asset in our strange half-alliance, after all, it was his mate we were endeavoring to save. I did not have to dwell in my anger much longer, as calm soon wrapped around me. These warm feelings from Jasper were starting to feel like an embrace. And I was starting to crave it.

The change in emotional climate felt like someone had taken blaring music and suddenly turned the volume down a few notches. Alice managed to settle into the couch and Edward - even tightly wound Edward - finally took a seat.

"Now," Jasper said, leaning forward and resting his arms on his thighs, "What was that call about?"

"Carlisle found a body," Edward began, his gaze darting over the people in the room. Alice sat up on her knees and leaned towards her brother, eyes burning with intrigue and a hint of fear flashing across her delicate features. Joanna was bored, and making it known by tapping her short nails on the arm of the couch. I was still dazed from the effects of Jasper's gift.

"People die all the time," Joanna hummed, continuing to tap her nails. "Especially in cities like Phoenix."

"I didn't see it happen," Alice said, eyebrows creasing, "I've been watching Lawrence's decisions."

"Your visions aren't perfect," Edward said, "the body was drained of blood. It had his scent all over it."

He turned to where my sister and I perched on the couch, his face a silent accusation.

My sister's eyes - burning embers - glinted in anger, "You. Better. Wipe. That. Fucking. Look. Off. Your. Fucking. Face."

Her muscles tensed and bunched as she prepared to jump to her feet, and we were hit with a heavy dose of lethargy. It kept Joanna in her seat and brought me as close to sleep as I had ever felt in my vampiric existence.

Edward described the murder. "This man was not just bitten. He was destroyed. Every bone in his body was snapped. The delicate bones in his fingers. His left femur was twisted and broken down the length of the bone. Chunks of his flesh were ripped from his body. His skin peeled from the muscle, and gravel ground into the raw, exposed flesh. He was alive for all of it. He felt every break. His throat was ripped out, and he died choking on his own blood."

I believed he meant to scare us with the grisly detail, but I had seen - not only seen, but done - so much worse. Granted, my torture was inflicted on fellow vampires, ones who had put my family in danger, but all the same. The Cullens seemed affected. Their faces ranged from disgust to fear. All except Jasper. His face looked much the same as mine. Just like me, it was not unheard of.

"And there was one more thing, Sarah," Edward's smirk turned almost evil, joyful in inflicting his words onto me, "he left a message for you."

My eyebrows shot to the sky. "What . . .?"

"'You made your own snares. I never made them'," Edward quoted.

There were flashes of recognition from all of the vampires in the room. We were all, as most vampires were, well-read. Even if they could not name the exact passage of the exact book the quote came from, it sounded familiar. But I knew what book, what page, what passage it came from.

Edward raised and eyebrow. "It's your favorite book right? Great Expectations? I heard you going through it a few times in your mind, more than you went through any other book."

"How do you know it was a message?" I challenged, "The human might like classics too."

"Ahh." Edward's tone was still mocking. He did not value this human's life for anything more than the guilt it could inflict on me. "The book was found next to his body, spotless, entirely clean. Except for one bloody fingerprint right next to that line."

I raised an eyebrow at him. This wasn't definitive. I knew it. He knew it. Every one -

"But," Edward said, "there was one more thing. A single line of tight, messy handwriting."

Lawrence's. I didn't doubt it.

"For My Dear Sisters." Edward was quoting again.

We quieted after his declaration. I had nothing to say to it. So, Lawrence had made a vague, indirect threat? What did he expect to come of it? The incident did trigger a memory. A strong one, one from my years as a vampire, from only thirty years ago, but it was inconsequential when shown in comparison to the present situation.

 _I stalked the streets of Downtown Athens, the college town I called home. It was the early morning, the sky still dark and the air still cool. Though the streets still burned with the acrid smell of alcohol-induced vomit, the bars had long since closed. Even so, I stuck to the westernmost corner of Downtown, where people were fewer and farther between than the strip of bars the twenty-somethings frequented. The people who drank on this side of town usually went home earlier, as they were older and had jobs to return to when the sun rose. The odd few that would still be out, stumbling through the streets or passed out in bushes, were those on the fringes of society. Those who would not be missed when I took their life._

 _As I passed through the night, I caught the scent of a human. He was untainted by the vinegary scent of alcohol-tinged blood. He smelled fresh and warm. As I followed my nose to were the human sat - under a streetlight, using the faint glow to squint at the line of a book - the smell of his blood grew ever more tantalizing. My throat burned and I longed to sink my teeth into his artery._

 _I strode closer to the human. He sat heavily on the curb, a worn and dirty rucksack next to him. There was a worn look and dirty beard on his face. My gift told me his leg was aching from a long-healed injury._

 _I stepped into the glowing halo cast by the streetlight and the man looked up at me. His grey eyes creased in worry._

" _You shouldn't be by yourself so late," he said._

 _I smiled as a took a step closer, and extended my hand to him. I would rush his system with a dose of my psychic morphine, enough to put him out. I would sink my teeth into him._

 _He reached out tentatively, placing a calloused, unwashed hand in mine._

 _I was just about to sedate him when my eyes caught something. The title of the book he was reading._

 _I looked into his kind, light grey eyes, an unfamiliar feeling welling in my throat. The steady pressure of the lump almost completely wiped away the burn of hunger._

" _That's my favorite book," I murmured. I inched closer to him, his hand still in mine._

 _Instead of lunging and ripping into his veins, I lowered myself down onto the curb next to him. My eyes were still gazing into his._

" _You're an angel aren't you?" he said, "How'd you get down from heaven?"_

 _I chuckled quietly and shook my head, but neither confirmed nor denied the man's suspicions. If he rationalized my unnatural appearance, coloring, and temperature in this way, then who was I to say different?_

" _My name is Sarah," I said._

 _His gaze darted along the pavement in front of us, skittering as though he was trying to follow some stray bug, and, while it was entirely possible some cockroach had found its way into the light, I doubted that's what he was monitoring. No, his wheels were turning deep in his mind, trying to rationalize what strange things - my cold skin, my red eyes - he was experiencing. Then his eyes were alight with recognition. He said, "Sarah. Like Seraph. I knew you were an angel."_

 _I smiled back at him. "What's your name?"_

" _Greg."_

 _He paused for a minute. "Angels like Dickens?"_

 _I laughed aloud. "Absolutely!"_

A loud hiss echoed through the Cullen house, coming from between Edward's clenched teeth. I glanced up at him, sure he had once again been fishing in my mind. I would have to learn his tells, every psychically gifted vampire had them if you looked hard enough. Some were obvious, like the immediate pain relief I could give or the feelings of comfort that came with Jasper's presence. Heather's tell was a slight little pull you could feel behind your eyes when she was looking through them.

"Bella is missing."

My eyes snapped to Edward. His phone - or what was left of it - was clutched in his fist. He must have gotten a text. I raised an eyebrow at him. I had heard the words that hissed from his mouth, but still said, "what?"

"Bella is missing."

"How?" Jasper demanded.

Edward said, "They were at the airport, waiting for their flight to get in to take Bella to New York. She asked to go to the bathroom and ran. Her scent disappeared on the road, and Carlisle thinks she got into a cab. They have no idea why she ran or where she is."

A loud gasp rang out, and it was followed rapidly by the thud of a book hitting the floor. Jasper flew away from us, and to Alice, his hand resting on her shoulder in comfort as she reeled in a vision. I watched her horror-stricken body rock itself, absent of her mind, as that part of her consciousness seem far away in a vision of some wretched future. Her hand, seemingly blanched even whiter, was clutching at her mouth, covering a silent scream.

Alice, in a voice so shaky it was inadvertently cryptic, described her vision:

 _Bella was looking out a window, wistful, like a girl in a movie, a million unspoken thoughts running through her head. Rain dotted the window, dying the world outside a washed out grey and streaking down like tears. There was a steady thwack of the gutter as droplets fell into it. Bella was crying too, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. There were a pattern cuts across her skin, over her shoulders and down her arms - a shallow, delicate affair that looked more like art than butchery. But the blood dripping from them was a horror. The red pigment, when mixed with the wet of her tears and of the rain, was a watercolor to fill in the pattern of injuries. Occasionally, there would be a break in the art, a small drag mark, not even an inch long, where the blood would streak in the opposite direction. The mark of a tongue._

The room she was in was old. It's worn hardwood floors, cast iron features, and long unused fireplace looked like they belonged in a museum. Bella was slung along a quilt covered bed. Drops of blood stained the cherry wood below her, some drops wine colored and thick, as though they had been sitting for a while, and others candy colored and thin. That blood was fresh. Bella was alone in the room, and it seemed so much bigger for it, but there were hushed voices coming from the other room. They were so blurred by quiet volume that individual words could not be made out, but they were two males - a bass and an alto - and one a high, keening soprano: female. The voices came in harsh whispers, quiet but quarrelsome. They were arguing too low for the human to hear.

A door slammed, causing Bella to leap off of the bed, and, in her rush, tumbled to the ground. As her limbs splayed, her blood smeared across the floor. A whimper escaped her lips. It sounded almost like 'please'.

Shoes came into the vision first. Dark, worn leather that came together at frayed seams to form work boots. It was the first thing Bella saw, from her position on the floor, and, as she trembled, her eyes found their way up. She saw a large man, tall with broad shoulders.

"That's not Lawrence!" Joanna exclaimed, breaking into Alice's recollection. "Law is thin. He has long, dark hair."

"You have another brother . . ." Alice muttered, snapping her eyes closed again as she tried to conjure the vision back.

"That description sounds like Matthew," I said. I could picture the work boots he wore very clearly in my mind. What I could not picture was him inflicting the pattern of injuries Alice saw across Bella's skin. That was gruesome and unnecessary. I said, "but he wouldn't do . . . that to her. He's not sadistic."

"Does it matter which did it?" Alice said, "They're hurting Bella!"

Her voice had an edge of hysteria, her eyes were verging on wild, and I could guess that Edward was not the only one who loved Bella.

"Where is she!" Alice said, her eyes frantically twitching behind her violet lids, searching her vision for any sign of a location.

' _Georgia?_ '

"Georgia?" whispered Joanna.

"Georgia!" Edward accused. The tip of his pointed finger made contact with Joanna's

clavicle. She practically shook in anger, but thankfully restrained herself from breaking off the offending appendage. Edward said, "who would like to explain to me why they think My Bella is in Georgia?"

"That sounds like our old house," I said. It did. The antebellum mansion stood proud over

the countryside, well-kept despite its age. It had been so many years since it had been truly occupied, since the chimneys had filled with smoke, or the kitchen had warmed with the heat of an oven.

Edward grimaced. "Is that in Athens? Where your family lived?"

"No." I shook my head. "Not where the Augustine's lived. Athens was taken from us by the Savannah Company. Or maybe Atlanta Company. It all got a little fuzzy there at the end."

I looked from the corner of my eye and saw that I had piqued Jasper's interest. He was watching me like a hawk, his head cocked like one as well while he watched me. His honey-colored eyes sparkled with intrigue.

"We couldn't go back there if we tried." Joanna spit venom.

I spared her a commiserating glance before continuing. "That sounds like our uncle's house. The JoJo and I went to live with when our father died. It's still in our name, but we never go there anymore. It's just south of the city, firmly Atlanta territory."

"Well guarded?" Jasper asked.

I shook my head. "Doubt it. Just 'cause they own it, doesn't mean they use it. They guard the city pretty well - everywhere in the Perimeter. That's where all the easy blood is. I have a feeling they'll be crawling all through Athens too. Making sure we don't come back."

"We'll be able to get there," Jasper said, "should be easy enough if we drive in while the sun is still up."

"Must be how Lawrence got there," I said, "I didn't know he even knew about that place! He's never been there."

"Some family you got," Edward snorted, "How does your brother not know you own a house?"

Joanna and I gave him twin hisses in reply. My hand twitched with a punch my mind told me was unwise to throw.

"Enough," Jasper said. He washed the room in his calm, "Call the other's. We're going to Georgia."

"Sarah?" Joanna looked at me, waiting for confirmation. I looked around. A war behind me, a family before me, the ceiling crumbling above me, a rug pulling out below me.

"Yeah." I nodded. "We'll go."

* * *

 **A/N: Well that was a lot. A little past, a little future, a little cliffhanger.**

 **Light question this week. Have you ever read Great Expectations? It's a pretty good book. The Gaslight Anthem song inspired by it is pretty cool too. The book has some significance to the theme of my novel, but it's not super important. Brownie points to anyone who can make the connection, though. As always, thanks for reading! - Elizabeth**


	10. Chapter 10 - The Road Home

The Cullens were kind enough to let Joanna and me borrow a few books each for the road. Joanna grabbed a couple of mysteries she had never read, and I picked up 'Their Eyes Were Watching God' and, of course, 'Great Expectations'. Jasper, frustrated with the boring choices of music Edward kept in his 'special occasion' Aston Martin, grabbed a few CDs from his bedroom. Edward barked at us to have more urgency. Jasper told him to fuck off, or something to that effect. I did not know the exact words Jasper had used, as the retort was only expressed in his mind, but I could judge Edward's expression and it did seem the reaction of an angry man who had just been told to fuck off.

The three of us - Jasper, Joanna, and I - were to go ahead, lead the way to Georgia. Edward and Alice would stay behind for Emmett and Rosalie's arrival, upon which the couple would be filled in and all four siblings would take off in their various cars. Edward and Alice would take his Volvo. I may not know cars, but I couldn't help but question his choice. Why take a Volvo when you have an Aston Martin at your disposal? Rosalie and Emmett would take a shiny red convertible. They would catch up with us somewhere along Interstate 84 East.

Carlisle and Esme would take a day in Phoenix, covering up the crime my brother had committed. His crime was not the murder, as my kind did not have much regard for the laws invented by humans. No, Lawrence's crime was to leave the ashen, exsanguinated body of his victim out in the open.

I began the journey South in the back seat of the silver Aston Martin with my sister by my side and Jasper catty-corner from me in the driver's seat. I flipped through the thick pages of my first book, living through Janie Crawford's many escapades and almost as many husbands. But I had read it before, and the novel soon grayed in comparison to the brilliance of the scenery around me. I leaned my forehead against the cool window and gazed out at Washington.

The rich greens and piney scents of evergreens colored the risings crests and falling valleys of the mountain range, with snowy, purple, and beautiful Mount Rainier towering above it all. The sky was unblemished by clouds - a rare occurrence, from what I could gather, for the Pacific Northwest. The sun cast dazzling white light over the scenery, highlighting each water-colored hue and setting my skin alight with a million tiny diamonds.

I unabashedly marveled at the world around me unaware - or uncaring, I was not sure which - of the empath in the driver's seat. He was not, however, unaware of me. I saw his gaze flicker to me via the rearview window, and I raised my crimson eyes to meet his gold. He flashed a quick half-smile at me. "Enjoying the view?"

I felt a little wave of shyness pass through me and I glanced away from him, and it crossed my mind that, if I was capable, my self-consciousness would have colored my cheeks. Joanna glanced up from her book, looked between the two of us and scoffed.

'Stop,' I chastised myself, 'you are not a blushing schoolgirl.'

I lifted my eyes to meet Jasper's and admitted, "I've never been this far north before. It's pretty."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Never? You stayed in Georgia your whole existence?"

"No," I said, smiling at his reflection, "but I've never been further north than the Carolinas. Not before this little um, trip at least. Joanna has, though. She and Daniel used to take . . ."

I felt the back of Joanna's hand strike my arm before I could even register what I said. I turned to her with a look of contrition in my expression and an apology on my lips. The hurt on her face - her creased eyebrows and the downward turn of her full lips - might have physically broken my heart. I shouldn't have mentioned Daniel.

Jasper eased the hurt and guilt in the atmosphere, replacing it with the feelings of contentment that reminded me so much of those long ago human nights I spent wrapped in a quilt. I wondered what Joanna imagined when Jasper used his gift on her. Maybe it was Daniel's arms she pictured wrapped around her.

Jasper met my eye again in the reflection of the mirror, and said gently, "Why don't you come up here? You can talk without fear of your sister's fists."

I ducked quickly between the drivers and passenger's seats, over the center console, before sliding into the passenger's seat next to him. The sunlight shown more directly up here, and my skin dazzled even brighter. Jasper's skin sparkled as well, the millions of tiny rainbows cast all over the car by the curves of his muscular arms. It was then I realized this was the first time I was seeing his arms. He had shed the jacket or long sleeve shirt he had worn constantly around the Cullens in favor of a short sleeved, v-neck t-shirt that showed off every silvery bite inflicted upon his skin. His right forearm rested on the center console. I rested my own scars next to his.

He looked down at our side-by-side skin with a melancholy smile. "I spent the first eighty years of my existence training newborns in Mexico."

My fingers twitched closer to the invisible barrier between us as I considered his statement and what I had heard about that particular company. We had never come into contact of course, there were almost a half dozen armies separating Athens from Mexico City. "Mexico . . .? Maria?"

He nodded. "I was her second-in-command. Didn't start out that way of course, I was turned like everyone else, and she never intended for me to live past a year. But she discovered my . . . gift was invaluable. That and all the strategic training the Confederate Army gave me."

'I was right!' I thought.

I spoke aloud to him. "You were a soldier?"

"Youngest Major in the Texas Cavalry."

"Well," I smiled at him, "It is a pleasure to have met you Major . . .?"

"Whitlock."

"Major Whitlock," I hummed. He bowed his head slightly to me. "You as well Miss. Carter."

We smiled at each other for as long as it took for Joanna to become annoyed and angrily whisper at us to get a room, though it couldn't have been more than a sliver of a second. Jasper and I shared a laugh, and I earned a sharp kick to the back of my chair.

"You don't let your family see your scars?" I asked, my gaze flickering over his face as I searched for any hint he disapproved of my question. His features betrayed none, the same handsome mask that showed both a million emotions at once and none at all. He only offered me a slight nod. "Even though they trust me, these scars still unsettle them. I'd rather just cover them up and not make anyone uncomfortable."

He thought for a second before adding. "You're the only one I've met who isn't bothered by them."

I shrugged and answered simply. "Everyone I know has scars."

He nodded and turned his attention back to the road. The conversation had taken us out of Washington and through Oregon. A few more hours of thoughts, reading, and the B-side of Zeppelin IV had taken us through Idaho and Utah. We were following the signs for Cheyenne before anyone said anything.

The ringing of Jasper's phone broke the silence. He turned the volume of the speakers down and answered it. I listened intently to the words coming through the other end of the phone. They were the same shrill, frantic, screech Alice had used when describing Bella's torture, except her voice had risen an octave higher into a register I wasn't sure a human could even detect. A dolphin could, perhaps.

Alice had another vision. This one infinitely worse than the one before. It was a brief image, with no words or movement, captured just like a photograph.

 _A lumpy, quilt-wrapped mess was tossed across the floor. The awkward bumps and odd angles hardly resembled anything human. The only clue was the frayed edges of brown hair that peeked out from underneath the rag. A nearby chunk of bloody scalp also carried a few odd tufts. A man crouched in the corner, his limp black hair and pale, sunken cheeks looking just a little more full and a little bit flushed. His head was resting languidly against the wall behind him and was listed to the side. The loopiest grin was plastered across his face and his eyes were unfocused and glassy. It would not have been out of place to see a just-plunged syringe handing out of his inner arm. But that was not drug of choice, instead, the only evidence of his high was a smear of bright red fluid around his lips._

When Alice had finished her description, Jasper closed the phone and set it in the cupholder for easy access. She had promised to call again as soon as she had narrowed down the timing of this vision.

"What is so special about this girl?" Joanna groaned. She had tucked her feet under herself and was rapping her fist against the window. The book was still open in her lap and, though her eyes were glued to the page, I had a feeling her mind was elsewhere. I glanced at Jasper to try and glean his response as he, after all, would know Bella better than my sister or me. His jaw had tensed in the slightest way, pressing his lips into a straight line, and a small pair of lines had appeared between his eyebrows, but he said nothing.

"I mean really!" Joanna continued, finally slamming the book closed and tossing it aside. "She's just a human! There's billions of them. Literally! Why can't Edward just pick a new one to obsess over?"

"Oh, JoJo," I hummed, shaking my head, "you know love doesn't work like that. Just because one has their own ends doesn't mean they're anymore wrong or right than we are."

Joanna rolled her eyes and muttered something about nobody caring about my 'philosophical bullshit'.

"I," Jasper said, "would love to hear your philosophical bullshit."

He flashed me a conspiratorial smile, "my apologies for the language, Ma'am, I was only quoting your lovely sister."

"Well," I said, smiling, "I suppose you are forgiven. I don't know -"

I did know. I had spent many long nights pondering these sorts of things.

"- I think . . . well, when humans fight wars, they all say God is on their side. But that can't be true, can it? So, maybe God is on both sides? Or none? Maybe he no longer concerns himself with the fancies of mere humans. I think people . . . armies . . . sides . . . they're all just people looking out for them and their own. Their own ends and best interests. So, no one is right or wrong. I figure vampires are the same way. We are, after all, just people."

"No one is wrong?" Jasper asked, gazing at me thoughtfully. I shook my head, smiling softly, "there are, of course, exceptions."

"Yeah," Joanna huffed, "like those bastards from Atlanta."

"No," I said, "I was thinking more along the lines of Hitler. Stalin, maybe."

"Or the Volturi?" Joanna said. Both of them were giving me a curious look now. JoJo continued, "you said that once, a long time ago. That you thought the Volturi may be an exception."

"Yes," I said, remembering the moment. It had been during one of my more rebellious turns, when Joanna and I were perched on the roof of the house we shared with the rest of the Augustine's. Augustine himself, our father, as well as his two sons, Daniel and Matthew, were watching a football game somewhere far below us. This was a time before we had known Lawrence or Heather, before the world had known them. They were only born in the late 1980's. Joanna and I were looking at the stars, feeling small and pondering the merits our existence.

I continued, "the way they lure their prey in those tourist groups. So many people at once just guided in like lambs for the slaughter. It's just . . . wrong."

I looked to Jasper from the corner of my eye, and saw him gazing back at me, a slight frown darkening his expression.

"Just musings of course," I said, making my expression light again and hoping it would be contagious. Jasper shook his head slightly. He said, "do you think . . ."

He paused for a moment longer than I believed a man of his decisiveness would usually pause.

"Do you think Lawrence may be an exception?" he asked cautiously.

Joanna scoffed. I turned away from Jasper, resting my head on the cool glass of the window and gazed out at the flat, unchanging landscape of Nebraska. I didn't want to think about this. Lawrence was my brother. He was not an exception to my rule.

The first rise of buildings broke the landscape in the distance. We were nearing Kansas City.

Jasper's phone rang again, vibrating against the plastic cup holder. He raised it quickly to his ear, expecting Alice to relay the nuances of her vision, but it was Edward who had called. He relayed to us what was happening in the Volvo that made up the tail of our little caravan. Alice was reeling in her visions, so entrenched in what she was seeing she could not possibly pick up a cellphone. She had seen the same vision over and over again, of Bella's murder, of Lawrence's elation. She had yet to see a vision of us - no, of the Cullens - making it in time to save Bella. Alice had however, nailed down a timeframe. It was contingent on the accuracy of a grandfather clock sitting in a darkened corner of the room, along with the darkened sky. If that ancient time keeper could be trusted, Lawrence would kill Bella at nine twenty-seven this night.

* * *

 **A/N: Who's your favorite character and why? Mine's Jasper. He has the most interesting backstory, and his struggle with his bloodlust is really interesting to read/watch. Thanks for reading! - Elizabeth**


	11. Chapter 11 - Hidden in Spanish Moss

We had reached the border between Tennessee and Georgia as the moon had begun to crest the sky, just visible over the peaks of the Appalachian Mountains. We could be through Atlanta, and into the rural edge of Macon county - the place Joanna and I had called home during those brief human years - in just over two and a half hours by car. But the sunlight would provide us with protection from the armies that dominated this corner of the world. We would wait, linger among the mountains of North Georgia for the hours it would take for the sun to make its ascent and give us a clear shot through the city.

We sat in the back corner of a twenty-four-hour diner - we being myself, my sister, and the Cullens, though I can't say when I had begun to think of us as one - at a large round table. The rest of the family had joined us here, even Esme and Carlisle, who had finished covering up the evidence my brother had so sloppily left. They sat next to each other in the corner of the booth. Rosalie and Emmett were next to them, with Rosalie's hand entwined with her mother's and Emmett's arm rested around the shoulders of his mate. Edward took a position next to his father. Both looked very serious and sat very straight. Alice was next to him, her bright gold eyes, for once, focused on what lay directly in front of her. Jasper, I, and Joanna were sitting in turn, each in a chair that arched around the remainder of the table, fully closing it off from the hostess, waiter, or any other prying ears. We had each ordered a cup of coffee or tea so as to not accrue suspicion. Most of us left the drinks untouched, but, every few minutes, I would wrap both hands around the steaming mug and raise it to my face, breathing in the warmth and fragrance that swirled from the coffee.

All eyes of the Cullens, all seven pairs of amber, and the ruby of my sisters were trained on me. The time for waiting and for fancies of the future had set with yesterday's sun, died with the afternoon light. Under the cover of night, we would strategize and scheme, though we still had different ends. Before the sun rose, if all went well, we would know.

"We're separating them," I said. My tone was firm. "Not killing Lawrence."

Edward said, "we will do whatever it takes to get My Bella back. If your brother has to die, then he has to die."

Carlisle laid his hand on his son's shoulder, stilling the boy. He said, "I don't relish the thought of killing another creature, even a sadistic one like Lawrence - "

Joanna shot him a glare, but I grabbed her hand and gave it a tight squeeze. She held her tongue and Carlisle continued, "however, if he hurts a member of our family, we will be forced to act."

"He won't kill Bella," I insisted, though I had to choose my words carefully. I knew he would hurt her, that he had hurt her. The opportunity to hurt her was the only reason he had not yet taken her life. I knew Edward was reading my thoughts, that he would hear this, and I expected him to respond with anger, however subdued by the watchful eye of the restaurant staff. I poured some sugar and cream into my quickly cooling coffee, changing the scent, before lifting it back to my face.

Edward did not respond the way I assumed he would. He absorbed my thoughts like they were a punch to the gut and, instead of retaliating, he just folded, throwing his torso over his outstretched arms in despair.

I spun through a couple of thoughts, trying to narrow down the best way to present the stray threads of information and yarns of strategy into something cohesive. All eleven of us could not storm the house at once, as we would only serve to antagonize and provoke my battle-trained and on-edge siblings. We must separate Lawrence from the rest. His presence would be dark and foreboding influence on my siblings. Any fight that broke out would but poor, fragile Bella in the crossfire.

"You're right," Edward moaned, not lifting his head from the table.

"Who's right?" Emmett asked, and Edward replied, "Sarah."

He had finally lifted his head, and he ran his fingers through his bronze hair. "She thought it would be unwise for all of us to go."

"Joanna and I should go alone," I said. Edward opened his mouth to contradict me, but I waved him off. "But I am willing to take one of you."

"Two," he countered.

I shook my head. "One."

"Then it's three to three," Esme said. She was half-tucked behind her husband, who gave her a reassuring peck on the top of her head.

"No," I shook my head, offering a morose half-smile, "At worst, it would be one of you against the five of us."

A wave of hisses passed over the Cullens. My expression didn't change, and I replied, "I did say at worst. I still do not intend to fight with you and against my family. Matty has been my brother for 140 years. Heather may be new to our family, but she is Matthew's mate and my sister. They've done nothing wrong."

"That puts whichever of us that goes at risk," Carlisle said, "If it comes to violence, you should give us the courtesy of an even fight."

I replied, "I'm afraid you don't have much leverage here, Carlisle. You have a lot more to lose than I do. You don't know where my home is. If you tried to find it yourself, it may take too long. You may be too late. I won't show you where it is unless you agree to my terms."

"I'll get it out of you," Edward hissed. His father shot him a reproachful look, and Edward amended, "One of you will think it eventually."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Can you really wait for 'eventually?"

"Very well," Carlisle relented, "Edward will go. It is his mate."

"Yes," Edward said, exchanging a stern look with his father and nodding.

"No."

It was Jasper that dissented. The Cullens all turned to him in deference. Though Carlisle was their leader, and it was his name they took, Jasper had years of experience, battle-honed skills, and a sharp wit built for strategy on his side. It was his command they all would take. Though not without protest.

"Why?" Edward asked, turning so he was squared to his brother.

Jasper looked at him steadily. "You're too emotional about this. Understandably, of course, Bella is your mate."

Edward hissed, causing the waiter to shoot us a questioning look. He was trying not to let us know he was listening, but he was busying himself cleaning a table he had just wiped not five minutes ago.

"Regardless," Jasper continued, "You may do something rash."

The sun had begun to rise, warming the diner in a faint orange glow. It bounced off the white linoleum floor, casting our skin in the indirect sunlight. We would have to move soon, before the rays could graze our skin and expose the inhuman brilliance. We all felt the sudden rush of urgency. JoJo's hand flew to my wrist and gave it an unsure squeeze. Emmett shifted his arm from around Rosalie, and Esme tucked herself closer to Carlisle.

Edward's gaze flicked back and forth between myself and Jasper before finally landing on me. "You'll only take him?"

Jasper smirked. I saw the same thick vein of pride in him that I had seen when he discussed his military service. He said, "That does seem the best plan. Considering my gift, I would be the most well received. Besides -"

He shot me a glance and I felt the same whirling of pride inside of me he carried in his perfect posture.

"- I think we'll make a good team."

"Let's go." I stood up, taking my sister's hand and pulling her along with me. Jasper grabbed his jacket - a dark chocolate leather - from the back of his chair and followed us. We moved wordlessly, expressionlessly, but as one. His long strides brought him to the door a moment before us. The bell above the door rang as he pushed it open, and he held it for my sister and I to walk through before exiting himself. Just as we left, I saw Jasper shoot his telepathic brother a meaningful look. Edward's nod was almost indiscernible, but it was there. It aroused suspicion inside me, but I decided to ignore it for the time being.

We climbed into the silver Aston Martin into the same positions we had occupied in the long hours we had spent getting this far. As Jasper peeled out of the parking lot, skidding onto the narrow mountain roads, he hardly spared a glance to the winding gravel road. We drove in silence for the better part of an hour, the tension mounting slightly as we made our way through the city. There was no real danger, of course, the soldiers in Atlanta, if they did detect us, could do nothing in the brilliant light of day, lest they risk exposing themselves. As we exited onto the highway that would take us to my home, Jasper turned away from the road. His attention was almost entirely directed on me.

"Tell me everything," he said, "right now. Anything that could help."

"What do you want to know?" I asked him, reclining my head against the headrest and stretching my boot-clad feet in front of me. They were a dark chocolate brown.

"Your siblings are newborns?" he asked.

"Not quite," I admitted, "They are just over the year mark, but I still think of them that way. They're still relatively impulsive, Heather especially, but their strength has almost completely waned."

He nodded contemplatively. "And your experience with newborns?"

I flexed my shoulders, allowing my bare arms - littered with scars- to glisten in the rising sunlight. I said, "you don't trust my resume?"

The corner of his lip twitched up in a half smile. "I like to know who I'm working with."

I chuckled wryly. "My only real experience with newborns comes from fighting them. My family never created any ourselves, and we tried to stay away from other armies as much as we could."

I watched him for a reaction, but he had yet to emote.

I continued, "but we did have a habit of poaching soldiers. Augustine, our father, did not have any gifts of his own, but he had a knack for sensing something special in other vampires, even when they were so new they did not know it themselves."

Jasper raised an eyebrow.

"We would take these vampires," I said, "the ones with potential - from their armies. Sometimes we would teach them how to be a little more . . . civilized, and we would send them north. Other times - very, very rarely - they would become part of our family."

"That's how you met Lawrence?" Jasper asked.

"And Heather," I smirked to myself at the memory, "they were kind of a . . . package deal. From the same army. Savannah. We - Matty and I - were in Savannah scouting for, um, recruits. Matthew saw Heather."

Joanna, a soft grin and a romantic look suddenly floating across her delicate features. She said, "And it was love at first sight."

"It was love at first sight," I confirmed, "Lawrence was Heather's friend. They had been changed around the same time, and, well . . . brothers in arms, I guess."

Jasper nodded. He had a knowing look in his eyes and I wondered, briefly, who he would consider to be his brother in arms. Edward in Emmett were brothers, doubtlessly brothers, but their unmarked flesh hardly met the requirements for 'in arms'.

I continued, "That was how Augustine, Daniel and Matthew found me and my sister as well. In Atlanta."

"Why would you take vampires from other armies?" Jasper asked, "That's dangerous . . ."

"Oh, it was," I affirmed, "and it wasn't entirely from the goodness of our hearts. See, these armies, in Atlanta or Savannah, or Charleston. They were too close to our territory, and, sometimes, they would try and take what was ours. The more advantages they had, the more psychically gifted vampires, or just skilled fighters, they had, the better chance they had."

Jasper said, "If you stole their best soldiers, they would not be as much of a threat."

"Yes." I nodded. "That was the idea."

"Why didn't you just kill them?" he asked, "The special vampires, I mean?"

"We weren't savages," I said, "At least we tried not to be."

Anyone who had heard the metallic rip that rang out as I ripped the heads from newborns may disagree.

Our conversation had brought us within spitting distance of the gate to my long-abandoned property. Part of me appreciated the manicured lawns and well-oiled glide of the wrought iron gate as it opened. It meant the gardeners Joanna and I had hired worked diligently despite their lack of supervision. The other part of me was dominated by trepidation. Though the long, dusty drive stretched out for almost a mile, and was shrouded by magnificent Southern Oaks that hung so thick with Spanish Moss that the plantation-style mansion was completely obscured, I knew my siblings' sharp hearing would have already detected us. Probably from the moment the gate had opened.

Stealth was not an option, so we proceeded unabashedly down the winding dirt road.

The home came into view. It's stark white facade and regal columns rose from the ground. Matthew stood on the porch with his arms crossed and his feet planted shoulder width apart. Another man may have been dwarfed by the sheer size of the building, but Matthew boasted his own house-like build. He was not quite in the range of my nose, and any vampire that lurked deeper in the house was certainly beyond detection. I could not tell if Heather, Lawrence, or even Bella were still present in the house.

I couldn't help the grin that filled my face when I saw my brother. Forgetting all pretense of diplomatic caution, I ripped open the door of the Aston Martin before Jasper was able to pull it to a full stop.

"Matty!" I said. I threw my arms around his neck, and he did the same, enveloping me in a bear-like embrace. In his deep, familiar voice, he said, "Hey, Morphine . . . Joanna."

He wrapped our sister in a quick A-frame hug, just a momentary greeting before we all pulled apart. None of us had forgot the situation. Jasper had stopped a few feet away and was standing with his hands clasped behind his back and a neutral expression on his face. The good feelings that emitted from him bathed us all in serenity. Matthew looked at him warily, and Jasper offered a cordial smile.

"I don't believe," Jasper said, "that we have been properly introduced. My name is Jasper Whitlock."

"Matthew Augustine," my brother said. I let my gaze flick unchecked between the two, wondering if they would shake hands, but gentlemanly pleasantries seemed to have been forsaken for fear of losing a limb. The two men watched each other suspisciously, each waiting for the other to make a move.

"Sarah," Matt said, his eyes never leaving Jasper, "explain. Please."

"They just want the girl back," I said, "That's all."

I heard a soft, yet distinctly metallic crack echo through the trees. All four heads turned back towards the heavy iron gates, but they remained in place, unmoved by wind or impact. Our eyes turned towards the trees, trying to see through the masses of graybeard, but it was impermeable. If any vampire was out there, they were camouflaged but the foliage, and coyly out of the range of our other senses. I could smell nothing but oak, grass, and the icy floral melodies of the three vampires next to me.

"Let's take this inside," Matthew said, "please come in."

He pushed open the door - cut from the same southern oak that surrounded us - and held it open.

I laughed as I walked past him, and I patted him on his rock-hard bicep. "'Please come in?' This is my house Matty."

"Our house," Joanna added, giving our brother a smirk and a light punch on the arm.

Jasper entered too, but he and Matthew exchanged no words.

The foyer, dressed in dark wood trim and light, rosy wallpaper, gave way to the front parlor. In this room, a large oriental rug, made of tightly woven crimson, cream, and gold covered much of the original wood flooring. Cream colored armchairs and a matching chaise - all stained darker by age - were gathered around a rectangular wooden table. Heather lounged across the chaise. Her long, almost white hair hung over the hand carved arm and her bare feet rested on the cushion. She held a tiny silver phone in her hand and was flipping it open and closed absentmindedly. Lawrence was nowhere in sight, and I could barely smell Bella's perfume.

"She's not here," Matthew said, following my gaze around the room, "Lawrence is gone too."

Jasper said, "I think it's time we talk."

Another metallic clang punctuated his words. This one from the roof.

* * *

 **A/N What gaps in the Augustine's history are you particularly anxious to have filled? Thanks for reading, following, favoriting and reviewing! - Elizabeth**


	12. Chapter 12 - A Brother's Revelation

"Where is Bella?" Jasper demanded, "She was here. Where did he take her?"

Matthew ignored him for as long as his will would allow, but Matthew was not a particularly stubborn man and he was easily swayed into speech by the tension of silence. He hedged with his words, only admitting that Lawrence had left recently, taking Bella. His movements told me far more than his words could have. His gaze had made a quick, unconscious dart towards his mate, towards Heather. Her gaze dropped guiltily, letting the curtain of hair fall over her face. Her bright crimson eyes peeked through the white sheet.

"You saw us coming Heather?" I surmised, "You told Lawrence to leave?"

She nodded shyly, keeping her head bowed. "I saw you looking at the road signs as they passed. I recognized the signs around Atlanta."

"She can borrow other people's eyes and see what they are seeing," I explained to Jasper, who nodded in recognition.

"You want to help Lawrence?" I asked Heather. She met my eyes through the partition of her hair. Her eyes were wide and darting between myself, Joanna, myself, then Jasper. They lingered on him, darting all over his body, like she was taking in every feature and analyzing it. She remained taciturn.

"I mean," I said, "do you want to keep him alive?"

"Yes," her response was strong and sure.

"Good," I said. Her body visibly relaxed, her shoulders lowering back to a comfortable posture and her hands unclenching, releasing the flesh of her palms from the assault of her sharp fingernails. I continued, "me too. All he has to do is let Bella go."

Heather's doe-like eyes glittered with hope, finally unobscured by her protective screen. Her smile was unobscured as well. I sat back in my chair, letting the warmth of diplomatic victory wash over me. I had convinced my siblings - excluding Lawrence, of course, - to fight on my side. We could relax now. Heather would look through Lawrence's eyes and divulge to the rest of us, Cullens included, where he was. We would all descend upon which ever venue Lawrence had chosen for his discretion and he would be easily outmatched, held back by Matthew and me as the Cullens removed Bella from harm. She would be shaken up, sure, probably have nightmares for the remainder of her existence, but she would live. Lawrence would live. There would be no bloodshed.

"He won't let her go," Matthew said. His words wrapped around my heart - an iron fist that gripped the organ tight and drug it into my stomach.

Jasper's phone rang. It was in his hand in a flash of white, but he did not answer it so quickly. He gripped it tightly in his fist, and his golden eyes shifted back and forth from the caller ID displayed on the tiny screen and the vampires that filled the room. He was rife with indecision for less than a moment before he excused himself and left the home to answer the incessantly ringing device. The remaining vampires quickly forgot the interruption and returned to our conversation.

Matthew said, "Lawrence is furious with you, Sarah. He said that you've been siding with them, against us."

My scoff hit hard against the inside of my ribs, and I rolled my eyes. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Matthew said, "You immediately went to their house. You stayed with them."

"Matty?" I asked. There were two sides warring inside of me. Indignation, fury at being accused. This part of me wanted to rear its ugly head and breathe fire through my words. It wanted to scold Matthew for doubting me. The other part of me was devastated, and wanted to shrink back, curl around itself at the disappointment in my brother's eyes. It wanted to lash out too, not at Matthew, but at myself. These two sides were tearing me from the inside out as they fought over my soul, heart and mind. For a brief second, I craved Jasper. I wanted him to take my pain away with his gift.

I turned my face towards my brother's hardened countenance. "You know me, don't you Matthew? I went to head Lawrence off, to keep him from trying to fight a coven by himself and getting killed."

Matthew did not even spare me the kindness of a gentle shake of his head. He went right for the biting retort. "He would never have been alone. We - our coven, our family - would have stood with him. You were wrong."

"But -" I tried to speak, but he put up a hand to stop me. I looked to Joanna, a plea on my face. Surely, she would defend me. She had been there. She knew.

But she had left my side, stepping to stand on the other side of the coffee table, next to Matthew. Her teeth were gnawing her lip and she would not look me in the eye. Her arms were crossed tightly.

"In fact," Matthew continued, "I'm starting to question all of your decisions."

My brow wrinkled in confusion. It had been he, after all, who had told me to defy birth order and take over the coven in his place.

"You led us North," he explained, "we abandoned our home."

"We had lost!" I exclaimed, finally finding the will to defend myself. Turns out the fury was winning. "Those two companies would have slaughtered us! They had already killed Daniel and Augustine! They would have killed us too!"

"It didn't have to be over!" Matthew yelled, taking a step closer to me. It was menacing. His hands had flow out to the sides in and incredulous gesture, and his hulking figure dwarfed me. He continued to berate me. "We should have stayed to fight! We should have taken revenge. Atlanta and Savannah had nothing on us!"

"They killed Augustine!" I screamed. I could feel the fury turning into hysteria. "They killed Daniel!"

"Exactly!" Matthew advanced two more steps. We were toe to toe. He continued, "We should have killed them for it!"

"You gave me command!" I slammed my hands into his shoulders and I shoved him away from me. "You were a wreck! Someone had to make the tough decisions!"

"You chose wrong!" he grabbed my shoulder in his huge hand. His other fist reared back. His eyes were wild. "I'm taking back my coven, Sarah. Fall in line or get the fuck out."

My eyes were wide. I flinched backwards, but my brother held me steady. His fist was a waiting threat, but he had not yet used it. It was taking the last of his restraint not to let it fly into me. I closed my eyes and braced for it.

A loud bang rang through my ears, stone crashing into stone, but I did not feel the sharp, searing sting of my own pain. I felt a dull ache in my shoulder, coming through static the way it did when it was another who had taken the blow. I opened my eyes, expecting to see that Joanna had stepped between us, keeping us from fighting.

I was wrong.

Jasper had stepped in between. His hand had slammed into my brother's shoulder, stopping the torque of his torso that would have given the punch power. Though Matthew's fist had flown, it was a glancing blow that had barely touched Jasper's cheek, not even leaving a crack.

They had both frozen, glares etched solidly in their faces. Matthew's fist had curled in Jasper's shirt. They were in a standoff, each waiting for the other to make a move.

Somehow, this was worse.

"I'll go!" I exclaimed, shouldering Jasper to the side as I threw my body in between the two men. "We'll go!"

I looked between the two of them. I had managed to force them apart, and they were standing not a yard apart, each leaning toward each other with fists clenched and ready to go, stopped only my hands, one resting on each of their chests.

Jasper straightened first, taking a step back and taking my hand. He pulled me away from the scene, and we blurred together to the car. I didn't think about what I was doing, I just followed. Jasper abandoned my hand when we reached the passenger's seat of the Aston Martin, opting to fling the door open for me and slide himself into the driver's seat.

"Get in, Sarah," he commanded.

I was still too stunned to think. My toes pointed back toward the house, back towards my brother, my sisters, my family. But they had told me to leave. I had agreed to leave. I had to leave.

I did as Jasper asked.

The car whipped around and flew down the dirt road, kicking up a storm cloud of dust as it did. The oaks, and azaleas, and Spanish moss were a blur as we zoomed past. Thank God we had left the gate open when we arrived. I was not sure Jasper would have stopped. His fury rivaled mine. No, not only rivaled, it amplified mine. He must have been unconsciously projecting his feelings into the atmosphere. His hand gripped the wheel so tight, they almost crumbled it to dust. The shiny silver hood bared a large dent. One of us had punched it, though I could not for the life of me remember which of us had done it. My rage was blind.

"It was Carlisle who called," Jasper said through gritted teeth.

"What?"

"The person who called me?" Jasper clarified. His rage was lessening, or he was just getting a better handle on his gift. I could no longer feel his emotions coursing through my venom-filled veins. It helped me see my own better. I wasn't angry. I was hurt. It was making my voice weak and fragile.

"Oh?" I asked, "what did he want?"

"He wanted to tell me that I was no longer involved in this operation," Jasper had a smirk on his face, but it was not kind or humorful. According to his expression, he was still furious, but I was beginning to think that the hurt I was feeling my not be entirely my own. Jasper continued, "Those noises we heard? Outside, and then on the roof? It was Edward. He was spying on us. Apparently -"

Jasper's hands twitched tighter on the wheel. It groaned from the pressure. "Edward didn't like the way we were handling things. He accused me of defying our family. Carlisle - "

A punch landed on the dashboard, shattering the display and sending little shards of plexiglass over the floor of the car.

"- agreed that I was acting _rashly_ ," Jasper said bitterly, "I've been told to stay out of it."

It was a mirror of my own experiences.

"They don't understand," I hissed, "my family or yours. They're too eager to fight. They don't understand the cost."

Jasper scoffed. "My family doesn't understand what it is to fight another coven of vampires. None of them have before. Ever."

"We're not defying anyone!" I said, "We're trying to keep them all alive."

We were still for a second, neither saying anything. We were headed north, I could tell from the names of cities that were whizzing past, the signs blurring together with the scenery. The other cars that occupied the highway were being left in our dust. Curiously, it was not northwest that we were headed. The car was pointed towards the direction of the still rising sun. I looked over at Jasper. His strong jaw was made even stronger by the tight clench of his teeth. His anger still coursed through him. Mine had subsided. Biting my lip, I started to feel the sting of venom welling up in my eyes as grief washed over me.

I felt Jasper's hand rest on top of mine, and I closed my eyes as he gave it a reassuring squeeze. Brief, only one lingering second before he let it go and returned his hand to the wheel.

"Where are we going?" I asked softly, "what are we doing?"

"We're going to Athens," he said, "Edward read Heather's mind while he was here, and Carlisle let it slip on the phone to me. She saw Lawrence in Athens. He took Bella there. Edward is already on his way, and he had a half hour lead on us."

"Okay," I said, the gears in mind working to catch up to whatever conclusion Jasper had already arrived at. "Heather will see them on their way there and my family will go to defend Lawrence."

"The Cullens will be killed," Jasper said. There was clear pain marring his voice. Despite his family's recent betrayal, he would not let harm befall them.

He continued, "they don't know how to fight. Your family will slaughter them."

I nodded.

"Some of your family could die as well," Jasper said. They dry tone of his words only added to their sting.

I cringed.

"So," I asked, "what's the plan?"

"We're going to find Bella first."

* * *

 **A/N: How is the pacing? I go back and forth between thinking it is fine and thinking I should pick it up a little bit. Should I? Or am I completely wrong and you think the story is moving too fast? Also, what did you think of that twist where the Augustine's shunned Sarah? Did it surprise you? It kind of surprised me. It wasn't what I had originally outlined, but, once I started writing this chapter, it was the only thing that made sense. - Elizabeth**


	13. Chapter 13 - The Fragility of a Human

"We need a solid plan," Jasper said, "Is there a place Lawrence would take Bella? Somewhere he could hide out with her and remain undetected?"

I racked my brain. Lawrence had lived with us for so few months, and a large portion of that time was spent tramping around the Upper half of North America. He wasn't from Athens, wasn't even from Georgia, so he could not know the intricacies of the city the way I did, like a map was permanently etched into my mind. He might go to our house? This idea only lingered in my mind for a moment. Our house was likely gone, either reduced to ashes or ripped apart by greedy, violent newborns. Without my family left to kill, they would have been itching to destroy and have very little outlet. I imagined our house would serve as a good proxy. Even if this was not the case, and the house Augustine had built all those years ago still stood, it would be swarmed with soldiers. Impenetrable. However, there was not much urban decay in my home city, very few abandoned buildings in which Lawrence could shelter.

"There is a pair of buildings," I started hesitantly. It wasn't much, but it was all I could think of. "They were new construction - apartment buildings - but the company went bankrupt before they could be finished. As far as I know, they are still empty."

"Where are they?" Jasper asked, and I replied, "East side of town. They're on opposite sides of the street from each other. You can easily see into one from the other."

"Busy street?" He looked at me. His index finger tapped absentmindedly against the steering wheel. I pictured the street. It was a narrow side road with a One-Way sign still mangled from a year-old accident. It may have been forgotten entirely but for the fact it connected one section of school buildings to another.

I said, "yes. Not a lot of cars though. It's mostly foot traffic."

"Accessible?"

I replied, "One of the buildings backs up to a parking deck. The other would be almost impossible to get to in the daylight."

Jasper turned his gaze out the window, and I could practically see the gears in his mind turning.

My own mind was turning as well. "He would know that. If he's in those buildings, he would have chosen the least accessible. Probably snuck in while it was still dark."

"Yes," Jasper said, "I'd imagine so. However, as long as it remains light, he will be trapped. We can watch his movements from the other building and ambush him when he leaves at night."

"Ambush?" I breathed. My anxiety spiked with the implications of Jasper's words. They meant Lawrence would be destroyed. By me. Whether I be the one to pull his head from his body, or just hold him steady while Jasper does. It would be my conscious the guilt would lay upon. Jasper sighed, "If he leaves Bella alone, he can stay alive. Maybe. But we're running out of time. He's had her for forty-eight hours now. How long before he decides the game is up and he just kills her?"

I had to concede as this situation was unique to any I had experienced. I had no frame of reference for how long Lawrence would torture and damage a victim when the depths of his sadism went unchecked. There had always been one of my family there - someone to admonish him, force him to stop, or, in my case, remove all joy by taking away the pain of his victims.

"I don't know," I admitted.

A sign flashed by.

'Athens 12 Miles'

Eight minutes at the speed we were going.

Jasper saw it too. We both felt the pressure of time.

"Sarah," he said. He was speaking quickly, even for a vampire. "We need to have a hard conversation and we need to have it now. Alice will have seen us decide this. My family will meet us in that building. This is our last few minutes alone and you do not want an audience for this conversation."

"Alice will -?"

"Unimportant," he cut me off, and I frowned at him. His expression softened. "At least for now. Lawrence is not the person you think he his."

The indignation that bubbled inside of me was quickly smothered with feelings of calm. It strained my will to sound angry.

"What?" I said, "how would you know? You don't even know him."

"Sarah," he said. Despite the rapid cadence, his voice was steady, "I told you this would be hard to hear. I don't know him, but I can see his actions. He is depraved and sadistic."

He took a moment before finishing; I could feel his eyes on mine but I did not meet them.

"You're not like that," he said, "You don't belong with people like that."

I scoffed. There was very little in my past I could consider light and morally pure. I could

Not even justify my actions as gray. Every sin I had committed was a product of my blackened soul. I may have spoken about the Volturi as an exception and Hitler and Stalin. I thought of myself the same way. An exception to the rule of 'everyone is just doing their best'. But I looked in Jasper's eyes - finally - and I saw a kind, knowing tint to their golden depths. I asked, "How do you know?"

"The way you felt when you returned from Port Angeles?" Jasper said.

"You mean when I killed that man?"

"You felt guilt," he insisted. I tried to duck my head again, deny his words, but he rested his fingers under my chin and kept his sympathetic face fully in my vision. He continued, "I felt it. I know what that feels like, Sarah. To know the pain of your victims."

I frowned. There was a sting in my eyes as I felt them pool with venom.

"To have that burden," he said, "but not know another way."

His hand had moved from the light touch under my chin, brushing along my skin until he was cupping my face in his hand. His thumb stroked along my cheek bone. I felt the warmth of his emotions flow into me and I leaned into the warmth of his touch.

"A long time ago," Jasper said, "I was in a situation - something violent and heinous. I couldn't see it for what it was. Someone whom I thought loved me was only manipulating me. It took a very good friend to pull me out of it."

Sympathy flashed through me, and I yearned to ask Jasper what he meant, what trauma had possibly befallen such a compassionate person. But I knew his intentions, once again, we paralleled each other well.

"I'm just not there yet," I admitted, "He's still my brother."

"Your brother?" he said. His voice had taken on a pleading edge. "Sarah, you need to consider that doesn't mean the same to the rest of them that it does to you."

That cut me deeply, flashing back to images of my brother's words . . . ' _fall in line or get the fuck out' . . . 'you were wrong' . . ._ and his actions. The way Jasper had to physically prevent blows.

"I'm sorry," Jasper said. He had felt my pain, "I don't mean to hurt you."

He hesitated a moment before adding, "After we left your house, Matthew felt regret for what he said. They all felt regret. You'll make amends with them. I promise."

I nodded. Though I hoped his words would come to fruition, I could not help the doubt. My eyes drifted over my companion. His right hand still cupped my face, and, every few seconds, his thumb would caress my skin. His left wrist was draped over the steering wheel. The scenery flew by in a greyish green blur, but I could tell we had almost reached the parking garage.

"We're quite alike aren't we?" I said softly. He nodded. "I think we are."

"Under different circumstances. . ." I trailed off. Though I cast him a long look and tried to force all of my conflicting emotions at him, I couldn't quite bring myself to say it but I had to let him know. I felt comradery and fear, attraction and trepidation. Above all, though, I felt understood. If the axiomation between us ran as deeply as I believed it did, he would know what I could not say.

Jasper gave me a rueful smile. "Perhaps under different circumstances."

We had reached the parking garage. Jasper took a ticket and we quickly found a space. The garage was near full capacity, filled with the silver sedans and hand-me-down minivans of the college students. Three cars stuck out among the monotony. A shiny silver Volvo, a pristine Mercedes, and a flashy red BMW. Jasper and I exchanged a look. I was nervous. He was expressionless. For an empath, he could slip very easily into a non-emotive state.

Jasper opened the car door for me, and we stood together at the edge of the parking deck, just inside the shadow. There was a thick band of sunlight in front of us, and, just beyond that, an abandoned building full of darkness. The two lowest floors of the building were almost complete, filled out with brick walls and insulation, but the upper floors were just the bones. The back door hung halfway open, and the pungent smells of alcohol-induced vomit and stale urine rose from the ground just outside the threshold.

My gaze skitted from side to side, waiting for a moment when no human was walking past. This little strip between the back of the parking garage and the cracked back door of the abandoned construction project was barely touched by foot traffic, but the laws of our kind could not be so haphazardly broken. When the moment came, and no students were passing by the sunny little corridor, we ran for the door.

Carlisle met us at the entrance. In the darkened, dusty haze of the unfinished interior, he almost seemed to glow. The other Cullens were out of my view, but I could sense them in the second floor. Though they made no sound - the building was still as death - I could smell each of their scents and feel a curious, dull pain in my side. One of them had been hurt. I took my eyes off Carlisle and let my gaze explore the ceiling like I could see through the lath and plaster to the vampires above.

"Carlisle," Jasper greeted icily, wallowing in the sting of rejection. I could feel it surrounding him like a haze, and it crossed my mind that his feelings had overwhelmed him to the point he could not contain his gift, but Carlisle did not seem to feel the sting. We were standing close enough that our elbows brushed, and I considered the possibility that physical contact made Jasper's gift stronger, as it did mine. I made a note to ask him about this the next time we were alone and could talk away from acutely tuned and nosy ears.

Taking advantage of the brush of my skin against his, I warmed my emotions with the glow of comradery and stoked the fire with the memory of the acceptance he had shown me in the car. I felt his thorny emotions lessen.

"Son," Carlisle said, smiling, "It's good to see you."

He turned to me and his smile grew a little pinched. "You as well, Sarah."

"Carlisle," I acknowledged. Rigid politeness would always be my default.

Jasper spoke again. As he had relaxed, his voice carried a slight tone of humor. "Glad I didn't step aside?"

Though Carlisle's expression remained a serene smile, I did not miss the slight twitch of his eyebrows as they momentarily furrowed. He said, "I'm sorry, Jasper. You may have been acting out of character, but, evidently, I should have had more faith in you. We would not have found Bella without you and Sarah's involvement."

"Out of character?" Jasper raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Carlisle replied, "Implicit trust -"

His gaze darted to me.

"- is not typical for you."

Jasper considered this for a moment before he moved on. He asked Carlisle to take us to the rest of the family.

We followed Carlisle up the stairs to the second floor, stepping around dusty piles of boards, bricks, and long-abandoned beer cans and water bottles. As we topped the stairs, he led Jasper and I down a hallway and into what might have been a living room. I saw that all of the Cullens were present. Esme and Alice stood close together, pained expressions on their faces and their backs to the lone window. They clutched each other's hands, and Esme immediately reached for her husband as he came into view. He took her other hand and lightly kissed her cheek. Emmett, Rosalie, and Edward had their backs to us and were parked in front of the window. The three of them were standing flush against each other, with Edward in the middle. Rosalie was gripping Edward's bicep tightly in her manicured claws and Emmett had his arm wrapped around his brother's shoulders in a less-than-friendly way. As I observed them, the muted pain in my side started to pulse.

As Emmett turned his body to face Jasper and I, Edward's shirt pulled to the side, revealing a stretch of pale skin along his hip. There was a spider web of cracks through the porcelain. Emmett caught me looking and explained, "he almost jumped through the window as soon as he saw Bella. He had to keep him from revealing himself to the humans."

Emmett jerked his head towards the window.

"We looked for a way to get to her in the daylight without being seen," Alice said, "but every decision we made ended with the Volturi paying us a visit."

"You can see her?" I asked incredulously. For Bella to be visible from this vantage point, she would have to be in the lobby of the adjacent building - or what would become the lobby if the apartments were ever finished, for now it was just as lonesome and dusty as the room we occupied. That seemed a risky move. The pair of buildings was a common shelter for the homeless population of the city and an amusing place to explore for the young, drunk, and willing to trespass.

"He knows we're watching," Edward spit. I could see his body quiver in anger, each muscle itching and his mind screaming at him to go to his mate. He said, "If he even looks at her, I will kill jump through this window and kill him. Laws be damned."

"If the Volturi . . ." Rosalie started, her tone biting. Edward interrupted her, hissing, "Volturi be damned as well."

"He's not in the room with her," Carlisle explained to Jasper and me, "We think he is somewhere deeper in the building as we have not yet seen him. We are waiting until dusk."

I nodded and left Jasper's side to take a few tentative steps towards the window - and towards Edward. He hissed at my approach, but I barely registered it. Those few steps must have put Bella just in the range of my gift, for I was met with a barrage of her pain. I felt the first strong agony in my wrist, just below where her radius and ulna met the bones of her wrist. Lawrence had snapped both her antebrachial bones clean through, causing pain to radiate up her arm and down her hand. There were smaller pains shooting through her hand, originating in her fingers. The joints, all of the joints, of her fingers had been methodically separated the tiny bones from each other. Finally, just as Alice had envisioned - it seemed so long ago, though it couldn't have been more than two days - Bella's delicate skin was crisscrossed with tiny, purposeful cuts. Each so shallow it was only a dull sting. I wished - not for the first time - that my 'morphine' could work from a distance.

Edward groaned at my thoughts like he was the one in pain. I supposed he was, as I had heard the bond of a mate was so strong even short-term separation could cause physical pain in a vampire. I had witnessed the torture losing a mate could inflict on a vampire. Joanna had been near comatose for a small eternity after she had lost Daniel.

"She has a simple fracture in both her left radius and ulna, just below the radiocarpal joint," I reported. Carlisle looked up sharply. "You can tell what her injuries are?"

I nodded, "her interphalangeal joints are dislocated."

"Which ones?" Carlisle asked. I could almost see the treatment plan forming in his mind.

"All of them."

He grimaced. "It was purposeful."

"Yes," I said, "and there are small cuts all over her skin. They should heal quickly."

I thought for a second. "If they don't get infected."

As the Cullens shuddered with the horror of it all, I felt a slight, familiar tugging behind my eyes.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you to jansails for pointing out some plot holes in previous chapters. I've gone back and fixed them as best I could. If you're following along as I am posting and you're not reading this in the future, you don't have to go back and reread anything (though feel free to). I didn't change anything that happened, just clarified some of the motives of the not-Sarah characters. I really appreciate feedback like this as it helps me improve my writing. It is hard to convey the motivations of other characters when you are writing from the first person point of view as you are limited to the things that the main character can perceive about the world around them. This review has taught me that I need to work on clarity.**

 **Question of the week: What do you think of the bond between Jasper and Sarah? Where do you think it's going? At what point did you realize they had a bond at all? Thanks for reading! - Elizabeth**


	14. Chapter 14 - Trapped in Shadow

When I felt the pulling at my back of my eyes, my logical mind disagreed with my instinct, but it was not as quick to act. Though I knew by the time I felt that tell-tale pulling, Heather had already infiltrated my senses, my gaze still fell on the blank, unfinished wall. Heather untied her sight from mine, the feeling disappeared, and I assumed she knew that I knew.

Edward was practically shaking. Though his gaze remained cemented on his distant mate, he asked me, "does she know where we are now?"

"I don't know," I replied, "she may recognize this building, she may not. She's never been here before."

The rest of the Cullens wore expressions ranging from confused to annoyed. I briefly summarized what had just transpired as Edward asked Alice what she could see of this new future. Alice's eyes went out of focus and her tiny body seemed to sway slightly, as though she was being carried along with the ebbs and flows of the possibilities. Had we been able to breathe, it may have been said that we waited with baited breath. My siblings had become the most unpredictable factor, even to myself. When they, no, if they arrived, I could not conceive of which side they would take. I hoped they would not forsake the bond I shared with them. The 140 and 157, year old bonds I shared with Matt and Joanna respectively.

When Alice pulled out of the vision, she announced, "they will arrive just as the sun starts to set."

"So, like, two hours?" Rosalie said, "you could have just said two hours."

"Rosalie," Esme scolded, but that thread of tension was quickly forsaken in favor of a much stronger threat.

We could not predict where this conflict would take us - though it was not for lack of trying, Alice spent every second wrapped in the future - for this path we were on was so fraught with indecision, changing loyalties, and a villain who had never been allowed to explore the true depths of his sadism. I could see no future for me. Whether that be in the most literal way - I had never walked into a fight so unprepared - or only figuratively. I did not know where I stood with family, or what little would remain of them. I had so few bonds outside my siblings.

Jasper. I could not see the companionship we had formed dying out so quickly, but it was new and tenuous at best.

Greg. A human. The one friendship I had maintained in my life. After our initial meeting, when he had read my favorite book and called me an angel - how wrong he had been! - I kept visiting him. His mental illness - schizophrenia, I assumed - had shielded my identity through the years. He remained firmly convinced I was an angel. I would buy him food and bring him books, always classics. It seemed we shared a love of nineteenth and early twentieth century bildungsroman, so I brought him _Pinocchio_ , _Jane Eyre_ , _What Maisie Knew_.

I could see him for one last time. The borrowed copy of _Their Eyes Were Watching God_ remained in the back seat of the Aston Martin. I was sure the Cullens wouldn't mind if I passed it along. I would have to leave here after all, never see Greg again. I could not stay in Athens. The Southern Wars had taken my home. And my father. And my brother. What Hell!

'Edward?' I only asked in my thoughts, 'did you hear that?'

He nodded.

'Can I keep the book?'

He replied aloud this time, as his answer was not something that could be conveyed in a simple head movement. "You'll have to ask Rosalie. It's her book."

I turned to face the blonde vampire. Her pretty face struck a balance between bored and annoyed. I explained to the steely mask, "I'd like to give it to a friend."

"Keep it," she replied breezily, "I don't care."

"Thank you."

"Hmm." She turned back towards the window, and suddenly gripped Edward's arm more tightly. He had tried to defenestrate himself again, throwing himself out into the sunshine. I assumed these seconds of madness corresponded with the writhing of his injured mate. I could feel small uptakes in her pain level that seemed to time themselves perfectly with his movements.

When his mate had stilled and the pain had finally returned to its baseline, Edward finally turned to face the room. There was anguish on his face: his brows furrowed and his jaw tense, his lips turned down and his eyes glistening with venom, it was etched into every feature. It was enough - more than enough - to draw sympathy from deep within me. Though Edward and I had spent our limited contact antagonizing one another, I knew the pure loss he wore.

"How do we get her out of this?" Edward said weakly. He had lost hope. "There's no way out of this."

Carlisle lay his hand on his son's shoulder. "I don't know, Edward."

He gave Edward's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. This was the only comfort he could offer, there were no truthful words that could raise Edward's mood.

"Jasper," Edward asked, turning to his brother, "please tell me you have a plan."

Jasper shook his head sadly. He spoke in low tones in case Lawrence could hear us from this distance. "We'll have to move as soon as the sun sets. Sarah's family will likely try and stop us. I can't see another way."

Edward dropped to his knees, his head buried his head in his hands. Alice went to sit beside him, wrapping her small arms around his torso and resting her head on his shoulder. She whispered, "we'll figure it out, Edward."

"You never seen it turn out, Alice," he reminded her, "Bella always - "

His voice broke.

"She always dies."

We all wallowed for a moment, feeling forsaken, and trying desperately to find a solution.

" _Sarah . . ."_

Mocking. Bitter.

My head shot up. I looked to each of the Cullens, hoping it was their mouths that the taunt had come from. I knew this was unlikely. The alternative was -

" _Sarah!"_

I crossed the room in a blur, slamming my hips into the window. My fingers curled around the window seal, cracking the wood under my grip. My brother had made his debut in the second floor of the adjacent building. Edward shot to the window as well, shoving me out of the way in his attempt to clamber from the edifice. We shouldered each other until we shared the view, each of our attentions captivated by the scene before us. Lawrence was standing just inside the window, carefully positioned so that we could see his every movement and no one below would catch so much as a glimpse. In his arms, he crushed and subdued his struggling victim. Their bones were groaning with the force of the death grip and blood was pooling under the surface of their pressure-damaged skin. Lawrence's long, black hair spilled over their face, obscuring it from view.

"It's not Bella," Edward breathed. He settled at this. His mate still lay in the lobby below.

I could not settle. The body Lawrence held was that of a man whose worn, baggy clothes partially masked the lankiness of his frame. As Lawrence moved - raised his head to flash me a depraved smirk - the face came into view. The man was bordering on elderly and his skin had endured so much hard living that it was covered in deep wrinkles. He had kind, light gray eyes and a dirty beard.

"Greg," I breathed. Now it was I who had to fight the urge to leap out of the window. I had a knee on the ledge when Edward grabbed my upper arm in his hand. Jasper appeared at my other side and wrapped his arm around my waist, cementing me to his side and keeping me from jumping to protect my friend, as well as using the contact to strengthen the sedating calm he was pumping into me. It only took the edge off the ache. Greg was off limits. My family could not hunt him. I made that clear years ago.

I tried to throw my gift at Greg, to stop his pain, even to lessen it. I had never been able to cover a distance, no matter how small. My finger twitched forward, desiring the contact that could ensure his pain would cease.

Lawrence's crimson eyes met mine. They were dancing with glee as he jerked Greg's arm backwards at the elbow. I felt the man's fragile bones snap. Though I heard the resulting gasp, though it was in my voice, I did not remember making it. Lawrence snapped Greg's wrist as well, sending a jolt of pain through me.

I felt a tug behind my eyes.

' _Good,'_ I thought bitterly, ' _Heather should see what her best friend is capable of._ '

Lawrence snapped his jaws closed inside Greg's neck, ripping through layers of flesh, muscle, and cartilage until Greg could no longer scream. His vocal cords had been severed by the vicious bite. The only noise he made was the hopeless gurgle of air trying to push through his blood-filled esophagus. I jerked my hand loose from Edward's grip and clapped it over my mouth, hoping it would muffle the sounds of horror. Venom pooled in my eyes, burning them.

Greg's body fell to the floor. Lawrence's laughter was cruel. He wiped the excess carnage from his mouth with his sleeve.

"Sarah." Edward turned to me. His voice was solemn. "He's trying to hurt you."

"Yeah," I hissed, "I see that."

Lawrence, still glaring at me, kicked the corpse at his feet.

"No," Edward insisted, "I mean all of this. He's just fucking with you. He was thinking about it, being . . . smug."

I looked at Edward sharply. Jasper pulled me tighter against him, both his arms now encircling me in a protective hold.

"Think about it," Edward said, "Leaving the book? 'You made your own snares'? Killing your friend? Even taking Bella. All of it was to mess with you."

"Why?" Jasper hissed. I felt him tense against me as he was overwhelmed by protective instinct.

"I don't know," Edward said, "he didn't say. I imagine it has something to do with Sarah keeping him from killing Bella in the field when we first met."

* * *

 **A/N: So, we got a little taste of Lawrence's true motives and the situation seems pretty hopeless. Any guesses on how the Cullens get out of this? I don't think it is anything predictable, but feel free to prove me wrong. Thanks for reading! - Elizabeth**


	15. Chapter 15 - Conclusions

I sat on a pile of two-by-fours, Jasper next to me. We had given up the unspoken pretense of distance after Greg had been killed and Jasper had instinctively held me. Now I unabashedly rested my head on his chest and he kept an arm wrapped around my shoulders. The feelings flowing between us - the lovely emotions he was projecting and my ability to soothe the minor aches of sitting on a pile of wood - were unreasonably pleasant, drug-like even. I couldn't feel the sting of loss. My hand rested on his and my thumb traced lazy circles around his knuckles, feeling the texture of his skin. His cool breath blew through my hair.

As we waited for the sun to set, the Cullens busied themselves with meaningless tasks and conversations. Edward had kept vigil at the window and I had spent the hours mulling this new development, on top of days of passive musings. In this time, I came to a few conclusions:

It was my responsibility to save Bella. I had previously thought my conscious to be clear in this situation. If Lawrence kept Bella for his own sick fantasies, or even if he kept her to terrorize the Cullens, it was not my doing and therefore not my responsibility. I had even considered it a point to the good that I was trying to prevent her murder. I'd certainly never wanted him to kill Bella. But he had kidnapped and tortured this poor innocent girl for my sake, and if not for my sake, then at least because of me. That made me directly - though inadvertently - responsible for this girl's situation. This made me directly responsible for her rescue.

The second conclusion that I came to was Lawrence must die. I had to admit that it was not an overall regard for human life that led me to this conclusion - as noble as that would sound - but watching him murder someone I considered a friend.

"Hey Jasper," I murmured, turning my head to look into his eyes, "I think you were right."

"I usually am," he said. He brushed a piece of hair out of my face and quelled the newest wave of sorrow. "About what, may I ask, was I right this time?"

"He's an exception."

He nodded and rested his chin on the top of my head. I trusted he understood me.

His family did not share the sense of implicit trust. Edward shot me a glare – one that was mirrored by Rosalie – though the source of the look was not anger but annoyed confusion. The others were not so hostile in their expressions, but each bombarded me with a glance. A pulse of Jasper's understanding washed this all away.

It was six o'clock before the sun made its first minute shift toward night, dropping by perhaps a single lumen. It was still too light to throw ourselves into a rescue mission.

Alice jumped to her feet. "Two minutes."

I shot up as well, Jasper next to me, and the analytical switch in my brain was thrown. The room had the advantage of height, being up a flight of stairs from the most viable entrance, but I could not completely discount the possibility that they would come in through the windows — a window behind me, a door before me, plaster above me, and dust below me. The room itself was ideal to block an attack. The wide-open space and half-finished walls allowed for the expanse to be viewed in its entirety, eliminating the possibility of someone emerging from the shadows.

"I can't see where they will come from!" Alice called, turning from the door to the window and back again, "They keep changing their minds."

I could see the fight from the other side. Working from a disadvantage, with the entrances only allowing one person at a time, my family would send in their strongest first, one who could counter any attacks with the highest probability of success. That would be Matthew. I pictured his hulking frame appearing in the doorway, a menacing expression on his sharp features.

They would use whichever entrance Heather saw was unguarded. In my prediction, her crimson eyes were far in the distance, watching me through every flicker.

"Someone watch the window!" Edward called, and Emmett and Alice spun to face that wall. The family backed themselves into a tight, defensive circle. Every corner of the room covered by at least one pair of golden eyes. With that, the option disappeared. My family would come through the door.

Edward was listening to my strategizing, and a familiar pang of annoyance hit me as I realized this invasion of privacy.

"Of course I'm listening," Edward scoffed. I supposed he was justified.

Alice bore a strange expression: brows creased together and a deep frown on her lips. "They aren't . . . ?"

"Hey Morphine!" Matthew was downstairs, calling me from a distance that could not be seen as threatening. And using my nickname.

I stood still, unsure how to react. I was sure - based on Alice's visions and my last encounter - that this was destined to devolve into physical blows. But my conviction told me that these blows were to be inflicted into the Cullens, primarily, and only be turned on me if I tried to defend them. Jasper placed a steadying hand on my waist.

In a subdued tone, Joanna said, "Sar-bear?"

I hadn't heard that one since we were kids, and rightly so, as I felt a little twinge of embarrassment at the endearment. Emmett snickered and I heard someone - presumably Rosalie - let her hand fly into his shoulder. It landed with a sharp crack. Jasper smirked, though I thought it had more to do with my reaction than the nickname itself. But along with embarrassment was the warmth of nostalgia. Fond memories of teaching my sister to braid her hair, or of swimming by the lake next to our childhood home - the first one, of our younger days. The home of our teenage years seemed forever tainted by the tumult of the past few days.

"Please come down here Sarah," my sister pleaded.

I took a step towards the door and Jasper immediately stepped after me, his foot falling where mine left.

He hissed at his brother, "what do they want with her?"

Edward shook his head, acknowledging what I had already surmised to be true. They would be consciously blocking him. I rested my hand on Jasper's arm, stopping him from following me as I took another step towards the door. "Let me go alone, Jazz."

"No, Sarah!" he hissed.

"Jasper." I squeezed his arm reassuringly. "They're my family. They won't hurt me."

His teeth clenched, but he let me take a few more steps away from him. I must give him credit for the faith he showed me in this action. It was more than I had in myself.

"Trust me," I pleaded. Turning from him, I bolted out the door and to the landing at the top of the stairs. Leaning over the half-built railing, I saw all three of my siblings. Heather was hugged to Matthew's side, his arm tight around her as he supported her full weight. Her eyes were glazed over and I wondered whose sight she was using. Lawrence's? Jasper's, perhaps? It only worked with people she had previously met.

My brother and my blood-sister regarded me with saddened eyes.

"Sar-bear? Really?" I tried to joke with my sister, but the sadness was too heavy in my voice. It weigh d down the lightness of humor. Joanna managed to choke a laugh through her own grief.

"Hey," she said, "It worked didn't it? You're here."

"Yes, I am."

I looked between them, taking in the subtleties of their facial expressions before I dared edge closer. Matthew was chewing on his lip to the point of pain - I could feel the ghost of it in my own lip and, had we been in other circumstances, I may have told him to cut it out - and his eyes would not quite meet mine, dancing just to the left or the right of true contact. Joanna was gazing into my eyes like I had just returned from a long voyage. Neither had any anger. I made my way down the staircase.

"I'm sorry," Matthew said as I came to a stop before him. His expression showed true contrition. "We saw . . . Heather saw . . . Lawrence kill Greg. He was telling us all this bullshit when we were all at your house. Stuff about you siding with _them_ \- "

I raised my eyebrow, but let the disjointed apologia continue.

" - once you left, and me and JoJo started talking, I realized none of that shit was true. And when we saw him kill your friend . . . he's fucking with you. I see that now. All the lies and everything. Turning us against you. I'm sorry I got mad at you, Morph, I just . . . well, shit is fucked."

I snorted. Matthew was eloquent as always. "Yes, Matty, I understand. Shit is fucked."

Matthew gave me a half smile - the other half was still unsure - and said, "I guess I'm forgiven."

No.

"Yeah," I said, "you're forgiven."

Joanna was looking at her feet as they kicked at a jagged piece of rock. She whispered, "me too?"

"You too."

She grinned. "That was a lot easier than I thought it would be."

I laughed, but it did not sound genuine. My heart was not committed to the humor my brain told me to express. "It's not. You have to go along with my plan first."

"Plan?" she asked. It was her turn to raise an eyebrow.

The plan had come together in an instant, the pieces clicking together in my brain where there had previously been nothing. They would not want Lawrence to die. They would not work with me if I told them the truth. But all it would take was one last lie to set everything right. Suddenly, an air of love and trust surrounded my family, easing them into agreement.

"Yeah," I said, "Lawrence is counting on you to fight with him, and for the four of you to beat the Cullens. It's the only reason he's still playing this game . . . "

"Over-cocky bastard still thinks he can have his human and eat her too," Matthew muttered. I heard a hiss from upstairs, the alto tones sounding distinctly like Edward. I ignored him. I would deal with that half of this tenuous little alliance later.

"Yeah," I continued, "but, if you guys go in first and grab him, then the Cullens can get Bella and get her out unharmed."

Matthew's eyebrows shot to his hairline. It was not in his plans to save a human. New, stronger waves of trust warmed the atmosphere.

"You'll do it, Matt," I said, "for me, you'll do it."

He sighed heavily. "Yeah. I will."

I'd have to thank Jasper later.

The last sliver of light disappeared from the room, casting us fully into darkness.

"Go," I commanded, "now."

One last burst of faith from Jasper and they took off.

The Cullens were just behind them, pounding down the stairs and immediately out the door, racing towards their Bella. Edward came first, shot past me without a second glance. His hands were already balled to fists, the tension accentuating the long-dry veins in his forearms. Alice and Emmett were close seconds, though easily outpaced by Edward's remarkable speed. Rosalie, Carlisle, and Esme were behind them. Jasper, though running alongside his family, stopped for a moment and whispered in my ear. "This is flimsy. You know that. There are way too many variables."

His voice was low and fast, guarded against prying ears. We hesitated for only a breath, exchanging messages in the briefest of words.

I hissed back, "I don't trust anyone but you. Follow my lead, okay?"

We raced together into the night, only managing a seconds sprint before we were forced to slow to a human pace. Despite the darkness, some witnesses still milled around the campus. The others must have slowed as well, though I could no longer see them. Already inside. Already face to face with Lawrence. I moved just a little faster than a human was capable.

 **A/N: There are only two (maybe three if the next goes too long) chapters left. Would you read a sequel? I'm writing one either way, but I'm just curious if I've peaked anyone's interest enough to stay for the next few months. Maybe that depends on how this book ends? Thanks for reading! - Elizabeth**


	16. Chapter 16 - Hands Crushed Against Ears

Dozens of humans milled about in the night, laughing and flirting, entirely unaware of the danger that stalking them from a few feet away, but this was how most humans lived their lives, telling each other happy untruths, like 'ignorance is bliss' and 'what you don't know can't hurt you _'._

As we walked through the night, I held Jasper's hand and we blended into the masses.

The protection of ignorance can only take you so far. When you are faced with evil - true, ugly, horrific evil - you have no choice but to deal with it. And the humans had no defense. If they had not toiled in their ignorance, they may have erected weapons against us. The cause may not be quite so lost.

I showed Jasper my anxiety and felt his answer of calm. It was excruciating to hold myself to this pace knowing we were one step behind the action, but I told myself and told myself again that this was calculated. We were the contingency plan. Nevertheless, I pushed my boots to fall just a little faster than mortals were capable.

But there was something to be said about the carefree way these humans milled about, drunken without worrying if it would lower their defenses, flirting with each other with the same ease they flirted with danger. I used to have their innocence - it was taken from me when I was just seventeen - but I have seen, felt, become the evil in this world. And it has spoiled me.

We broke the threshold just in time to watch Edward throw himself at my family. His face, so twisted in animalistic fury, was a far cry from the stoic countenance and quiet thought associated with higher reason. His mind his broken like his mate's body when he saw her torturer. As my family scattered into a fighting formation, I saw, for a flash of a moment, that they had listened to me. Joanna and Heather had grabbed Lawrence - whose face held its own predatory expression, consumed by fury and betrayal - and Matthew had stood guard in front of them. As Edward flew towards them, Matthew's brutal punch easily knocked him away, sending the man's body crashing into the wall. But Edward was so consumed by rage that the injuries - and they were numerous, I could feel cracks across his skin - did not faze him. He attacked again.

This one action broke loose days of pent up aggression, and every vampire was fighting. Emmett was on my brother in a second, joining Edward in a sloppily coordinated attack. Matthew would toss one Cullen to the side while his fist flew into the other. Alice was neatly dodging Heather's attacks, her eyes closed as she relied on her precognition. I disapproved of this. Your gift should be your aid, not the only tool in your arsenal.

Jasper and I dropped hands and took a step apart, giving the other room to work in case an attack came. Aside from the occasional glance spared in our direction, we were ignored. Between the strained relationships and shifting loyalties, neither side could label us as friend or foe.

As growls, hisses, and metallic cracks filled the air, I felt the assault of injuries. Someone had cracked their shoulder, another their leg. Hearing a loud shriek of pain, I felt teeth rip through someone's arm. It was a newborn move to bite the closest piece of flesh. Heather had finally landed an attack on Alice, teeth tearing through her shirt and into the marble skin below.

Jasper lurched forward, ready to defend his closest sister, but I dug my fingers into his skin and hissed, "it'll heal. We have other priorities."

He stilled, but his muscles remained tightly coiled, like a snake readying itself to strike.

I scanned the room, past the tussles to find my target. Bella was huddled in a corner, curled around herself. Her eyes were screwed tightly closed and her hands - despite the torture of her broken wrist - crushed against her ears. Poor thing. There was no way she was blocking out the sounds of pain and stone against stone.

Shrinking from emotion and back into logic, I judged that she was six feet from the stairs. One tenth of a second. Carlisle and Esme were hovering around her, at a distance close enough to adequately guard her, but not so close that she would be collateral damage in a fight. Lawrence would lunge at them occasionally, when he wasn't being buffeted by the storm of antagonists, and they would beat him back. I plotted a course through the chaos. One course: I would need to cross the room, weave and evade between the sparring groups, somehow dodge Carlisle and Esme, and grab Bella. The other option was more cautious. I make my way around the perimeter, out of sight, out of the fray, and sneak in behind Carlisle and Esme - using Jasper as a distraction? - to take the girl.

 _Crack!_

The first real casualty. Heather's arm was torn loose from her body, revenge for the bite, and tossed into the dusty corner behind her. The exposed muscle fibers writhed like worms as they searched for their missing half. Heather screamed in pain and in fury. Matthew threw the two men from him and raced to his mate's side. He landed a punch on Alice's nose, and Edward, who had flown after him, returned the blow for Alice, clawing the back of Matthew's head.

 _Crack!_

That was Rosalie. Joanna had taken both her arms and kicked the girl to the sideline. Joanna turned and readied herself to face an already charging Emmett. He roared like a wild bear and lunged with his arms outstretched, but my sister ducked his attack easily and managed a kick to the outside of his knee. His leg bent at a grotesque angle and he fell to his knees. Joanna would have taken his head off had Carlisle not abandoned his post and grabbed her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and threw her to the side. This action, though borne of fatherly love, was rash. It left Esme exposed and out matched as she desperately fought Lawrence and protected Bella.

"Mom!" Edward gasped. He flew to her side, wrenching Lawrence away from Esme just as his teeth sank into her collarbone. She shrieked and clutched at the wound. It burned like fire flowing through her empty veins. Lawrence dismissed him with an elbow to the nose, and Edward crashed to the floor, kicking up a row of boards as they knocked a deep crack into his skull. Lawrence turned to Esme.

Jasper hissed. "Lawrence cares about Heather?"

"Yes," I said.

He ducked away from me as I tried to grab him, and said, "I'm giving you a clear shot."

"Lawrence!" Jasper growled. My brother glanced at him, but continued stalking towards Esme, a look of menace clear on his face He was enjoying this: relishing Esme's fear, watching Carlisle - held hostage by his battle with Joanna - twitch with the need to protect his mate. Jasper lunged toward Heather, ducking effortlessly through his family members and ripping her remaining arm from its socket. He took the writhing appendage and chucked it at Lawrence, relishing the crack it made against the back of my brother's head. Heather, rendered useless in her limbless state, cowered against the wall, letting her brothers step in front and guard her.

I yearned to step up next to Jasper, to stand next to him and fight. But I finally had a clear shot to Bella. And Jasper could handle himself.

Everyone was so entrapped in their own battles, their senses fully engaged, oblivious to the human. Bella was in my arms in a second. She tried to scream but my hand was already clamped on her mouth. I ran her up the stairs.

The second floor of this building was incomplete, only slightly more than bones. There was only one room with a floor, the room where Greg's body still lay, rotting and putrid as it baked in the Georgia heat.

 _Saints of God, come to their aid, come to meet them, Angels of the Lord._

But I couldn't balance a clumsy human on the precarious floor beams. She rolled and writhed in pain and fear. I sat her down, as far away from the horror of the body as the small space would allow, and I put myself between. She had seen enough, and my back was to _it_ \- I could spare myself as well. Though I was not sure I deserved that. If this was my doing, I guess it only made sense that I be stuck here with the repercussions. Was this the first circle of Hell?

I extended my hand to Bella. I could not set her broken bones, but I could take the ache away. She flinched away with a pitiful squeak of fear. Her curtain of hair fell over her panic-stricken face like a shield.

"Don't hurt me!" she begged, curling tightly around herself.

I brushed my fingertips against her elbow, a nonthreatening way to impose physical contact. My eyes drifted closed, briefly, and I pictured the neurons in her wrist, sparking and lighting as they tried to cope with the pain, the impulses traversed the radial nerve as it crackled and popped with electricity, then up her spine and into her brain, carrying the waves of injury. I muted the neurons, extinguishing every little spark and soothing the fire in her wrist and hands.

"See?" I cooed, "no pain. I won't hurt you."

"But your eyes are . . .?" She was still flinching away from me.

"Well," I said, "I think they're black right now, Darlin', but, yes, my diet is a little . . . different."

The fighting below us had concentrated at base of the stairs. I heard frequent cracks and metallic rips. The pain in my throat told me more than a few heads had been detached. There were few things to give me comfort in this moment. The first was that Bella was here, alive, and only a little worse for wear. The second was that I had not yet smelled the high glycerine of burning vampire flesh. The room was not filled with purplish smoke. Everything done could still be undone. And I was confident in Jasper's ability to survive. Not his ability to fight or his ability to win - though I had faith in these as well - but the marks that crossed his skin to the story of a survivor.

"Is Edward okay?" Bella asked meekly. The last I had seen of Edward Cullen, he was tossed against the wall with a deep cleft through the back of his head.

Lying does no good.

"He'll live," I said. Bella nodded vigorously, so hard that I felt a dull pain where my spine met my skull and I felt compelled to increase to dosage of my morphine. Tears started to leak from her large doe eyes - brown like my sister's had been when we were young and innocent. Then they flowed, a raging river, and a scream erupted from her throat. This was catharsis.

"Shh," I said, scooting closer to the trembling human. I had to hold my breath, she truly was ambrosia. "You'll be okay, Bella."

"I'm n-not," she gasped, snot was pouring down her face, mingling with the falling tears, "w-worried about me. I - I don't want the Cullens to d-die!"

"Jasper was right . . ." I whispered.

"What?" she said. Confusion tore a hole in her mask of tears.

"He said you're worth it. He was right."

 _God, she is selfless. To care about monsters._

The fight downstairs had deteriorated. Quick pulses came in rapid succession like automatic gunfire. There couldn't be more than four or five people left on their feet. My whole body ached with the pain of others, it was driving me to weakness. I slumped against the wall and closed my eyes. The neural lightshows layered and layered on top of each other until it was an overwhelmingly bright mass.

"Are you okay?" Bella asked. I nodded slowly. "Just need a little adrenaline."

This was a gift I would soon receive.

"Sarah!" Jasper called, "Up!"

I jumped to my feet and sank into a crouch, feet shoulder width apart and body coiled in a slight pivot, ready to throw my weight into a punch.

Lawrence was in the doorway. He looked furious, feral and a little . . . worse for wear. One of his high cheek bones had been sheared off his face, leaving a jagged slab of rock above his hollow cheek. He had two fresh bites on his ravaged arms, oozing with translucent venom. He leapt at me.

Jasper was a half-step behind him. Unscathed, thankfully. He grabbed Lawrence's arms, yanking him backwards, and planted a foot on the small of his back. One slight tug and they would pop out of his shoulders like a broken doll. Jasper pulled lightly, and a crunch echoed through the room. Lawrence howled in pain and tried to jerk his captive body away from Jasper. This was a mistake. His shoulders only cleaved more.

I walked slowly towards the man I once considered my brother, rolling the ache out of my shoulders so they were loose and free to swing hard at the snide expression he wore.

"Jasper?" I said calmly.

"Yeah, Darlin'?"

"How's it look down there?" I asked. I threw my fist into Lawrence's face. It cracked my knuckles and I felt my own face ache, but his nose was pulverized on the impact. Satisfaction.

"Edward and Alice are fighting Matthew and Joanna," Jasper said, "pretty evenly matched. Everyone else is in pieces. Nothing got burned."

Bella screeched.

"Oh," I turned to the little human, "don't worry, Bella, they'll be fine. And Lawrence will be dead in a second."

"Fuck you," Lawrence hissed, "My Darling Sister."

Jasper showed us a flash of his anger as he wrenched Lawrence's arm from its socket. "Watch your mouth."

Jasper grabbed the stump of a shoulder, steadying Lawrence. I braced my hands on either side of Lawrence's face, curling my fingers into his damaged flesh. It cracked under my grip; venom squirted and leaked from the wounds. Lawrence spit and hissed and cursed at me. A quick uppercut drove his bottom teeth into his upper palate, stitching his mouth closed with bone. A jerk of my wrist and his body was free from the burden of his head. Jasper kicked the limp corpse to the ground - it landed on top of its severed arm, contorting itself around the appendage - and I tossed the head on the pile. As Jasper flicked his lighter on, I kicked the last few chunks back towards their origin.

The air filled with the glycerol scent of burning venom. The smoke that curled to the roof was iridescent, shifting from blue to lavender as twisted away from the corpse.

Edward wrapped Bella in his arms, cradling her head as she sobbed into his chest.

"Shh, Bella," he whispered, "you're safe."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for missing an upload. I had a paper to write for school. I'll make it up to you by uploading the last chapter tonight. ;) - Elizabeth**


	17. Chapter 17 - The Pieces

The hopeful mood soured before it could fully bloom.

"They left as soon as you killed Lawrence," Edward said. He peered at me over the tangled brown hair, holding Bella's sobbing figure. As she convulsed and cried, he rubbed soothing circles on her back and whispered comforts in her ear. "We won't pursue them. My family is . . . well I was going to say intact, but that seems a poor choice of words."

I nodded. This had been my assumption, and, while the reliability of the moment was some comfort, I still felt the ache of loss and betrayal. It had been building within me and I neared a break. My muscles tensed as I fought to keep the emotions inside. Jasper stepped close behind me and rested his hands on my hips. While we were cold to humans, to one another, vampires were warm and physical touch was comforting. I leaned back into his chest.

"I'll take you hunting," Jasper offered. He glanced at Edward and added, "if you can clean up without us?"

Edward nodded and waved his hand dismissively. "It's probably best if you go. When the others wake up get out back together, they'll be hostile."

"Sarah?" Jasper asked, "would you like to try hunting animals?"

Perhaps?

"It doesn't have to be a permanent change." Jasper read my silence as apprehension, which, in a way it was. But Jasper's gift could not sense the complexity of thought behind my emotion. The guilt I felt after a hunt would never again plague me, my eyes would never again be stained red with the blood of my victims. This was intriguing, more than that, it was a godsend. But there was the fear of the unknown, the fables and horror stories that had been funneled into my mind as I matured in my more traditionally fed coven, was still strong. But so much had already changed, so what was one more shift in paradigm?

If only the taste were more appealing.

"Okay," I said. Jasper grinned down at me, sending warmth and satisfaction to me, and a lazy smile drifted across my face.

"So," I said, "bears? Or . . .?"

"Bears. Predators - large predators - are the best."

Jasper took my hand, readying to leave. I sent a last thought of warning to Edward. _Be careful leaving. The Atlanta Company will be all over the city._ I showed him a quick slideshow of their faces - at least the ones I knew - and gave the aroma of their scents. Jasper led me out of the building, out of the city, and back into the mountains of North Georgia.

"Okay, Darlin'," he said. We had arrived in a little clearing, with a flowering meadow, rock formations, and a shallow pond. "I'll meet you back here when we're done."

We parted ways and I began the search for anything that resembled appetizing.

The oak cracked under the weight of my ascent, dropping its leaves into the grass that slept so far below. Pollen blew into my face, carrying the scents of the forest. The clean, mineral smell of the rushing river, the fetor of soil, the assorted musk's of local fauna. I perched on a Southern Red tree, letting it act as a sort of filter, dulling the other scents so that I could focus on the one that mattered most - the rich, sweet smell of blood. The banks of the river provided a fertile hunting ground. It was the kind of place where animals would gather, wetting their thirst in the bubbling river. I imagined there would be many this time of year. In the vibrant growth of a Georgia spring.

A league away, two figures rose from the lush green of the forest, dwarfed by the forced perspective. Still far from the range of their eyes, I leapt lightly to the forest floor. My landing was soft in the grass.

Noiselessly, I slipped off my shoes and let my bare feet sink into the damp grass, soaking the bottom cuffs of my jeans. If I moved noiselessly, these two figures would let me close.

I forced my feet to move with a light step, almost floating. As I drew closer, the two figures became bears, one was large with a thick, russet-colored coat, the other smaller with fur a few shades lighter. I decided the smaller would be my meal. I did not yet know how the volume of blood would compare to that of a human, and it would be such a shame to let any go to waste.

The larger wheeled around, looking for the source of the noise, and a growl erupted from his throat. His partner, alerted to my presence, rose to its hind paws, exposing its soft underbelly. It was easy to subdue, though its heavy paws crashed against my skin, the sharp claws only splintered when they encountered marble. My teeth slipped easily past the fur and into the bear's skin, the only resistance being broken by a soft pop. Blood filled my mouth, hot and gamey and new. I let a soft moan escape my throat, and my eyes rolled back in ecstasy. It was no human, but to feed after so long was pure pleasure.

Its pulse began to pick back up, heart racing in fear. The bear twisted and flopped in my arms, limbs twitching and his muscles contracting as they tried to escape the fiery burn of the venom. I shoved my sedative at it, letting the calming energy flow through its veins. Though I could not feel the pain of beasts, my influence did seem to have the desired effect. As its heartbeat slowed, so did the flow into my mouth, until, finally, they both stopped. I let the bear's limp body crash to the ground and wiped the last, beautiful drops from the corner of my mouth with a delicate finger and dipped it back between my lips, savoring the last, fleeting taste.

My senses, which a fled from me in the rapture of the hunt, suddenly returned. I could see the tiny drops of blood in the snow at my feet, and I could smell the scent, heavy in the air. Not just the life-giving fluid of the bear at my feet, but an other's as well. The larger one.

I turned and saw the large animal dangling from Jasper's hard, white arms. He had snapped its neck before he bit, making the draining of its blood a simple task. When the last of the fluid was gone, Jasper dropped the corpse and it smacked to the ground with a heavy thud. There was only a neat series of puncture wound, barely visible underneath the blood-matted fur.

He grinned at me. "I didn't think you'd mind."

I shook my head. "I don't. It was more than I needed. What should we do with the bodies?"

I glanced over the animal at my feet and Jasper chuckled, a warm, affectionate sound. He shook his head, and I realized my mistake. No one looked for dead bears the way they looked for dead humans. Closing the distance between us, Jasper wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on the crown of my head. I leaned into his embrace, wrapping my own arms around his strong, broad shoulders. And I was at peace. Wholly and totally at peace.

"How do you feel?" he murmured into my hair. I grinned and nuzzled closer to him. "Warm. Safe. But you knew that already."

I felt him nod.

"What do we do now?" I asked. I did not ask if we would stay together, for that I already knew.

"Whatever it is, Darlin', where ever it is," he said, "we'll figure it out."

We walked together towards the dawning sun.

* * *

 **A/N: Okay, that's it! Until the sequel anyways. Speaking of that, I'll be posting chapters on the same schedule (Wednesdays and Saturdays) and will tart publishing in a week or two. I like to have a catalogue of completed chapters before I start.**

 **One last trip to English class: any guesses at the theme?**

 **Thank you to everyone who read my story, and a special thanks to those who reviewed, followed, and favorited. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it. - Elizabeth**


	18. 5-8 Author's Note

The sequel is now up. It's called 'Another Soul, Cut the Same' and starts about three weeks after TSHSM ends. It's heavily inspired by the Horrible Crowes' album _Elsie_ , so I'll be posting some song titles and specific lyrics in some of the authors' notes.

Sorry it took so long. I had to move somewhat unexpectedly, but I'm settled now so I'll start up publishing again.

Thanks for reading!

-Elizabeth


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